Batman: Brave
by DAISHIGAJO
Summary: Months after Luthor and Batman battled, Bruce is now determined to upgrade the abilities of the Bat Suit. Meanwhile, he is taking a more active role in his charity foundation. Selena Kyle is trying to reform her thieving ways. As the city migrates to New Gotham, Old Gotham is being bought up by unknown investors. These changing times will soon explode, testing Batman's resolve.
1. Author's Preface

This is a spiritual sequel to my previous work, SUPERMAN: BOLD ( s/9395036/1/Superman-Bold). The continuity, universe, and story borrow from it, and many events are details in Superman Bold that come to have an effect on this story. However, this work can stand alone as a self contained novel. For those of you reading my writing for the first time, please check my profile, leave feedback as we move along, and enjoy Batman: Brave.


	2. Chapter 1: Rattle My Cage

**Chapter One**

_"The difference between Batman... Superman... even Lex Luthor, versus someone like the Joker, is the degree to which they are willing to restrain themselves. They all have something at stake in the game. Superman and Batman, quite obviously, value the lives of those they seek to protect. Lex Luthor, a true villain in his own right, seeks to rule. In their own ways, they protect life to different ends, either in service or dominion. The Joker has no such inhibition, because he does not play the game to win. Whether he kills the Batman, kills Superman, kills Luthor... kills anyone, really, does not matter to him. Kill one, or kill a thousand, it does not matter. Win, or lose. Unmask the Batman, or not, does not matter. It's why he cannot be truly beaten. Take a game of chess. While most play to win, Joker, at best, plays for stalemate. His enjoyment isn't in victory, but in seeing his opponent struggle."_

_-Hugo Strange_

Lucius Fox glanced from Bruce Wayne to the technical display on the cave's computer. "Like what you're seeing?"

Wayne nodded, finger at his chin as he looked over the display, noting different elements of the readout. "Care to give me a full rundown?"

"You know how much I enjoy some old fashioned bragging about my creations," he said with a wink, glancing upward at the massive screen. "After your battle with Luthor a few months ago, you told me you needed something to go up against stronger opponents, especially since you're working more frequently with people like Superman these days," he said waving toward the monitor. "This is a product of our research, a combination of our advancement in the exoskeleton we've been developing on our newly renewed defense contracts with the U.S. government. I'll be honest Bruce, it's not nearly powerful enough to go toe to toe with Luthor if he ever decided to pick a fight with you again, but it's got enough punch and defenses that your chances of survival are better than without it."

The display changed, an image of Batman's forearm and hand appearing. "New molecular manipulation has allowed us to create a carbon steel armor plate that is not only lightweight but as incredibly dense, capable of withstanding gunfire of almost any sort, not to mention able to take a punch from, shall we say, superpower enhanced enemies," he said, a sly grin on his lips. "The grapple gun you've been using is no longer necessary, so that frees you up from having to take it everywhere you go. Grapple devices are loaded into your left forearm piece. Once it attaches, just hold onto the rope and swing, just like old times."

"And when I need it to detach?"

"Hold on, I'll get to that. It's the best part, really," he said, a slight glint in his eye. "The underside of your forearms still contain digital controls for remote control of your vehicles of course, while the topside contains a stash of Batarang devices that can be fired. Again, we'll talk about controls in a second," he said, switching the image to a display of Batman's legs. "Both arms and legs contain the hydraulic system we've developed for the Wayne Tech Exoskeleton, but these have been miniaturized. You can't carry as heavy a load as that armor type, but this will allow you to lift up to four hundred pounds rather easily, while retaining your mobility and stealth capabilities, not to mention give you the ability to bend steel. It will also give you increased running capability and a higher top speed, though nothing extraordinary. I wouldn't expect you to win in a foot race with the Flash, for example."

"Nobody wins in a foot race with Bart," Batman mused, watching the technical presentation. "What else is there?"

"Well, you've been using the Wayne Tech headpiece for a while now," he said, the image changing again to the Batman helmet. "We've kept the old eyepieces in the helmet that allow you to scan across the electromagnetic spectrum, and you'll still be able to do things like use Sonar to get the layout of a room, before you enter, or visibly track a radio signal. Nothing too new there. However, it's time we discussed the controls. You see, they're in the helmet."

Bruce had an idea of what Lucius was alluding to, and he frowned at the thought, but reserved judgment. "Keep going."

"The passive neural interface we've been developing as part of Wayne Technologies and Wayne Biotech has come a long way in the last few years. Amputees can use attached appendages like they were their own, just by thinking about what they do. We've got men and women playing basketball, getting in races, and doing delicate work the assistance of our robotic arms and legs. How do they control it? With the same interface you use for the suit. The helmet's contact with your skin at the base of your skull will allow you full control of the suit. There's a secondary control interface built at points of contact throughout the suit but the most reliable interface is the one in the helmet. We're continuing to work through some of those bugs of course but for now, I think we've turned out quite an impressive product."

Wayne remained skeptical, eyes continuing to scan over the images, eyes looking at the notes displaying in the corner of the readout, just beside the image of the helmet. "It doesn't feel like me, Lucius."

"I know how much you pride yourself on your training. This doesn't take away from it, just enhances it." He paused, laying a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "You know what Luthor did to you."

Bruce nodded. He knew better than anyone, given he was the one that had taken the beating. Though he'd recovered well in the months following the battle, a product of his rigorous training, commitment to healthy diet and a lifestyle conducive to physical well being, it had still been a difficult road. He'd had fractures throughout his legs, lacerations at multiple points in his head, a concussion that had threatened, at one point, to become dangerous, and a number of internal injuries from being repeatedly slammed into the wall by a man who'd gone punch for punch with Superman. That was when he'd started considering the need to enhance his defenses.

Finally he nodded, shaking his head. "Alright. I'll give it a test run when I head out," he said, shaking his head as he did. "I may not like it, but the truth is I can't get into too many battles with people of Lex's strength level and expect to survive it every time."

"Glad we're on the same page on this one Bruce," he replied as he walked past his friend, heading toward the back of the cave. "Especially since we've already got your new suit loaded up and ready for use."

Wayne turned around, eyes narrowing. "Let me guess. Alfred."

"He doesn't want you dying on him anymore than I do."

"Well as much as I'd like to take it onto the street, I have something I need to attend to."

Fox smiled. "Part of the newer, softer image Bruce Wayne is trying to portray?"

"I'm not trying to portray anything, Lucius. Clark had some valuable insight onto the Wayne Foundation, and I think it would be prudent to heed some of it."

"By which you mean you're going to spend the day playing with children?"

Wayne sighed, eyes closing slightly as he shook his head. "Unfortunately."

* * *

The Wayne Orphanage on Gertner Street had once been a tribute to the failure of Gotham City, a dilapidated building situated near the crumbling center of Old Gotham, which inhabited the island off the coast, just a few minutes from the bridge that cut the city into the two sections of Old and New Gotham. When Bruce had first chosen it as the site of an orphanage, it had required not only funds, but tons of manpower to repair, and many had wondered why he didn't just blow it up and start new. At the time, it had been a mystery to everyone.

"It's gorgeous Bruce," Barbara Gordon commented as she stood at his side, eyes moving over the ancient gothic architecture, the frightening gargoyles perched high above on the rooftops, the columns and stone etchings a tribute to a style of building design that had faded sixty years before. Still, once upon a time, the painting had been chipped and faded, the stone crumbling, and the wood rotting. Now it was a pristine, still a monument to the past but with modern flare. "You know, when I first heard you were going to renovate it, I didn't understand why. Now though," she said, waving at the building, "I get it."

"Every time someone says they want to tear down a part of Old Gotham, I can't help but feel they want to tear down a part of my parents' legacy. Tear down a memory of them," he said, shaking his head, his jaw jutting outward, locked defiantly. "People forget that Gotham's darkest years weren't until after they died."

"They certainly did a lot for the city. At least that's what my father says."

"We all know it, but for some reason these politicians want to forget," he said, head slightly nodding toward the mainland. "You're right though, Barbara. Look at it now."

They'd been in the playground for a while now, watching as children of all ages had danced between one another, running around, dipping and diving over each other, some tumbling, others pushing, their caretakers carefully guiding their playtime. The larger part of the morning had been spent dealing with reporters, who were covering Bruce's visit on the tenth anniversary of his renovation efforts in this part of the city, which had specifically begun with the orphanage. Bruce was an expert at dealing with reporters, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it to any large degree. They were simply a part of his life, as a consequence of him being one of the wealthiest men in the world, not to mention Gotham's patron saint. They were a necessary evil, but a nuisance. He sometimes mused whether he enjoyed tangling with them or his wide array of criminal adversaries more.

His eyes moved off to the side, watching as a group of older children began to wrestle at one another, forming a half circle as they watched two adversaries matching up. One was bigger and stronger looking, a real brute of a boy, maybe seventeen years of age and quite obviously the sort who could have made it onto a football team in some sort of capacity. The other, though, was light, quick on his feet, strong but lean, his light black skin contrasting against the majority of his peers. The larger of the two fighters leaped inward, but the lighter boy easily circled away, leaping onto a nearby playground slide, running up a step or two before turning and leaping on the larger fighter, the two collapsing onto the ground as the athletic young man laughed, quickly jumping back onto his feet.

"He's good," Bruce said with a nod, his head pointing at the boy. "Reminds me of Nightwing, without the theatrics."

"She'd hate to hear you talk about her like that," Barbara said with a slight smile that Bruce returned.

"She knows what I think about her style. I don't have to like it to acknowledge that it's effective. She led her team admirably during the crisis back on Thanksgiving Eve, so I've got no right to complain about her."

"Maybe, but you let her go right afterward."

"It's not that I didn't want the assistance," Bruce said, his smile fading, replaced now with that persistent scowl he wore for large periods of time. "We were just more effective as two separate crime fighters. Keeping her on with me would have been a disservice to Gotham."

"Is that it Bruce, or do you just really not like having to deal with people?"

"I've kept you around, haven't I?"

"Yeah but you don't have to see me half the time. I'm just the voice in your ear."

"And I'm glad to have you," he assured her as the smile returned, taking a few steps forward, silently gliding across the playground as he moved. It was as if he could see every loose stone and pebble before he took a step, his legs carrying him toward a bench, where he took a seat and soaked in the sun, enjoying its warmth on his skin. "I really need to get out more during the day," he said, eyes slightly closing as he enjoyed the sensation.

"Mr. Wayne?" a voice interrupted him, though he'd been aware of a presence approaching. He opened his eyes, blinking slightly as the image came into focus, one of the women who helped run the orphanage. "Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry to interrupt you."

He got to his feet, extending a hand to greet her. "No need to be so formal," he responded, smiling. "I was never raised to be unapproachable."

"I appreciate it, Mr. Wayne. So many of our donors seem to think of themselves so much better than us."

"The wealthy tend to get a bit stuck on themselves. Now what can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to say thank you for everything you've done for our establishment over the years," she said, hands folding together in front of her. "The money you give helps us give these children a home, allows us to give them an education, help feed them." Her shoulders heaved as a large smile crossed her lips. "You've just allowed us to do so many wonderful things here."

Though he wasn't the most intensely emotional individual around, words like those helped him stay grounded in a real world where clowns and corrupt gangsters didn't run around ruining lives. "I'm more than happy to fund this orphanage, like the several we have across Gotham," he said, eyes glancing around, spying the heights of the buildings around them. "After all, I know what it's like to lose your parents. Kids need something to hold onto during tough times."

"Definitely. I'm glad there's someone with your financial capacities who really gets it."

His gaze shifted slightly, looking aside and across the playground, latching onto the lean boy that had just emerged from his fight. "You normally let them get that rough?"

"They know the rules, Mr. Wayne. No blood, no bruises. If things get too intense we have security around, obviously, but they just like to wrestle. It's in good fun, for them."

"And what's that boy's story?"

"R.J.?" she asked, looking over to where the young boy stood, his hands tossing a hood over his head as he plugged in his earphones, connected to a cheap music player. "He's got it tough. He doesn't actually stay here in the facilities with us. Doesn't like it, and it makes him jittery. He's seventeen so the law doesn't require him to be here, or even in school, but he drops by on the weekend to spend time with some of his friends. During the week he does come to classes, trying to earn his high school diploma, but it's tough. Because he doesn't enjoy staying here he finds places to stay on the street, and he has to work almost full time plus come to classes, so it's difficult for him to stay awake sometimes. He's constantly exhausted, yawning all day. This is the liveliest we ever see him."

Bruce nodded. It wasn't an uncommon story in Gotham City. "But is he passing?"

"Oh, yes Mr. Wayne, even with all those difficulties, R.J. is really quite smart. He's one of the top performers in his classes. Somehow, even with all he's juggling, he manages to somehow keep his nose in the books. I don't think I could do what he does, though."

"I think few of us could," he said, nodding. "Well, it's good to know that, even if he's not staying here, he's managing to carve out a life for himself. Does he get a good meal at least?"

"Of course. You can tell he doesn't eat much wherever he lives, though. He devours everything you put in front of him."

"Growing boys will do that." His eyes stayed pinned to the young man, watching as the boy started getting into a rhythm to whatever he was listening to, his legs quickly flashing back and forth as he jumped around on the pavement, planting a his legs and spinning, his baggy jeans kicking slightly outward as he went through a routine. "Does he always dance?"

"He loves to. If we offered a class I'd hope he'd take it. I'm not much for hip hop but he really can put on a show when he gets into it."

"I don't care about the style of music, but he's obviously got skill. Do me a favor?"

"Of course, Mr. Wayne."

"Just keep an eye on him," he said, steering his eyes back to her. "And send me an update on his progress once in a while. If he's as smart and strong as he seems, I think he'll have a bright future."

* * *

"It is too hot for this outfit," the young woman said, fidgeting with the leather apparel that clung tightly to her well toned figure. "Still, girl's got to look good when she's out. You wouldn't hear Batman complaining about that suit of his, and half of it's latex. That stuff doesn't breathe at all."

She shook her head as she moved across the rooftop, eyes looking down on the line of houses below. They were classically Old Gotham, constructed with huge columns, almost Greek in their appearance, ivory frames against brick materials. As the middle and upper classes of Gotham had moved onto New Gotham across the bridge, everything here in the old city had slowly worn down, with only Bruce Wayne's money keeping the area from collapsing into ruin. The buildings here, nice as they might have once been, were now slowly falling apart. Everything from the foundation to the rooftop looked bad, and it was an eyesore to look at many of them. It was also odd that such luxurious houses were built in the middle of awful looking buildings such as the one she was looking at, a product of the fact that Old Gotham hadn't been zoned, so factories and warehouses had sprung up just across the streets from homes. She preferred her home over on the East End, but made a living in Old Gotham.

"Reforming is so hard to do," she said with a sigh, lowering her goggles over her face. "From professional cat burglar to kind of sort of hero? Guess I can live with it. Doesn't mean I can't get a thrill once in a while." With a leap she propelled downward, hands grabbing at the pipe alongside the warehouse and allowing her to control her slide down the side of the building, her feet planting firmly on the ground beneath, her sturdy boots allowing for a firm landing before she launched forward under the cover of darkness. The lamps on the street were out, the city authorities having long ago given up on replacing the bulbs, and so she moved with ease to the edge of the house grounds, passing only a few feet away from the guards that sauntered about, fully automated rifles in their hands. The blood pumped in her veins, a smile on her lips as she quickly dashed by, the rush of the hunt surging through her. "This is why I still do it," she whispered to nobody in particular, grinning as she moved along the outside wall, its white paint falling off in flecks. Her eyes peered through darkened windows, hand quickly moving to the satchel at her side to withdraw a suction cup attached to a rotating handle. She drew out the blade that hung from its arm, planting the suction end onto the window planting the blade end at a wide distance from the center. Rotating the small handle, the blade quickly began to spin in circles, a faint line trailing it before it grew darker and deeper. She took a final, long glance within, the night vision in her goggles revealing nobody inside. Tugging with a single, firm pull, the suction cup popped the wide glass frame out and, grabbing hold of the window ledge, she elevated herself up and through the hole in one smooth motion. Head forward she turned her fall into a roll, quickly vanishing into the inky blackness as she moved against the room wall, her eyes darting around as she became familiar with her surroundings.

The interior of the house seemed empty at the moment, though her ears were twitching as she looked around the corner of the doorway, searching for anyone that might be nearby. The exterior hallway was well lit, though the curtains were drawn shut, allowing nobody from inside a view within. Stairs led upward, which she quickly sprinted upward, feet carrying with a combination of speed and stealth. As she moved up, she caught sight of a portrait, a young, handsome man with a thin pencil moustache within the frame. She chuckled lightly as she reached the top, moving into the upper hallway. "Great White doesn't look like that anymore," she said with a grin, eyes scanning the area. Spying what seemed to be one of the more prominent doors in the hall, she quickly dashed over, placing a small device to the door's frame and sticking the other end into her ear, listening through the doorway. Hearing nothing, she continued within, her eyes quickly searching the room for any hint of a threat. Still, seeing nothing, she moved forward to the desk. It sat against a large rear window that nearly ran from floor to ceiling, though again, the curtains were drawn, and she was hidden from the outside world. Free to go about her business, she quietly shut the door behind her, moving to the desk and hands rifling through its contents.

"Boring... boring... boring..." she mumbled as she went through the documents, searching for anything that might stand out. It wasn't until she spotted the titles and deeds to large sections of property in Old Gotham that she slowed down, folding the papers and tucking them away within the pouch at her hip. "Now these are interesting," she said as she moved away from the desk, fingers running past a gold pocket watch that she snatched up. "And this should get me at least a little sale," she said as her light fingers stuffed it in with all the deeds. As she did, her face shot up, sounds from outside catching her attention. "Shit," she said, backing away, eyes going to the window as the footsteps drew near to the door. She dashed away, throwing them open just as the door swung wide, voices of protest suddenly rising as a horribly disfigured face emerged from the group. His skin was diseased and white, his nostrils large and teeth exposed like a shark's. "Catwoman!?" he shouted, drawing her gaze for just a second before she yanked her whip from her side, flashing it upward at a pipe that extended up from a nearby roof.

"Sorry Great White," she said with a wink, tugging tightly on the handle of her weapon. "I've got other places to be!" With that she launched outward, the whip bearing her weight as she swung into the dark evening, bullet fire trailing her as the Great White Shark ran to the window, swearing as she disappeared into the blackness beyond. As the sound of gunfire filled her ears, Selena Kyle could only grin. What a great start to the evening.


	3. Chapter 2: Dinner and Conversation

**Chapter Two**

_"Are you serious, doc? Didn't they get enough of these audio recordings when I was in Arkham Asylum last time? I don't remember that turning out so well, do you...? Wait, you're not even interested in asking about me? You want to know about Batman? Give a man a cheap suit and some toys and he thinks he runs the world, that's what I have to say about that guy. The thing about Batman is he just doesn't get the joke. Running around, saving people, la dee da. Ten to one he's doing it because he had a bad time growing up, and you don't have to be a psychologist to know that. I mean he's no different than any of these other crazies running around Gotham. Hey doc, let me ask you a question for once. What's the difference between a Batman, a Penguin and a Mad Hatter? Not much is the answer."_

_-The Joker_

Bruce Wayne frowned, examining the tie that was nestled firmly at his collar, adjusting it between his fingers as he stared along the shoulders of his suit. Over time he'd had to have his tailor adjust and refit him more than a few times as he'd gained weight, almost all of it muscle. When he'd first began his career as the Batman a few years before, in his early twenties, he'd been much more lean. It had allowed him to maintain an element of stealth and speed, but he'd found that, as his enemies had become increasingly more vicious, he'd been forced to put on ever more muscle to combat them. There was a war being waged in the shadows of Gotham between Batman and his enemies. When he'd first begun his campaign against the city's great criminal families, the Falcones, Maronis, Thornes and others, it had been just him and the thugs with guns. As Gotham had spiraled out of control, he'd teamed with Commissioner Gordon to stem the tide and retake their city. That's when the so-called super criminals had begun to emerge, the first of whom had been Dr. Death, a genius weapons designer specializing in chemical toxins. He amount to little more than a terrorist, a man that had been, at first, a physically unintimidating pushover who hid behind his chemical weapons, traps and hired muscle. Death's genius was not in his physical abilities, but in his incredible planning. He'd contracted with organization all over the world and, during his career, had amassed a fortune by selling his weapons to organizations ranging from Shining Path to Al-Qaeda. Gotham, though suffering under a brutal wave of criminal activity, was still an economic powerhouse in the United States and the world, much of that owed to Wayne Enterprises activities in the city. Because of that, it had become a target of Death's as he'd attempted to break the U.S. economic system, hoping that by crippling the financial capacity of Wayne Enterprises he would force the U.S. to withdraw from various locations abroad, in turn earning a paycheck by various foreign insurgencies. At the height of this plot, Death and Batman had come to blows in Old Gotham, in the old industrial district. It had been a phase in which Batman had still been learning, working out the ways in which to fight while preventing life. Unfortunately, he'd been unable to save Death, who'd died in the massive explosions triggered by the chemicals stored in his facility. Bruce had barely managed to get away himself, and had always cursed that day, promising himself he'd do better in the future to preserve life, no matter whose.

Ironically, the Joker had taken up residence in some of Death's old facilities shortly thereafter. Joker was one of Batman's oldest and certainly his most feared enemy, a man with little regard for self preservation, no value for human life, and a wanton desire for destruction. Joker had made a living tormenting Batman, nearly crippling Barbara with a gunshot that had forced her out of the role of Batgirl, not to mention Joker's constant attacks on Nightwing. Joker was chaotic, almost unpredictable, a man that did not plan and yet did. His method's always just seemed to come together, and his terrifying persona worked to manipulate the other super villains of the city and bend the wills of most of Gotham's common criminals. Likewise a genius chemical weapons developer, he'd arrived in Gotham with a bang, working out of Death's old facilities and taking up the mantle of crazed weapons developer. He didn't do it for profit though, although Joker would sell the weapons he developed when he needed cash for his more extravagant plots. In his first year in Gotham, Joker had managed to escape Arkham a half dozen times, each time going on a murder spree of varying, sometimes appearing to have deeply thought out plans, and other times seeming to be acting at sheer random fancy. What Batman knew for sure was that the foundation Dr. Death had laid out had given the Joker a chance to spring to the top of Gotham's criminal pantheon with little struggle, and the many locations where Death had planted labs, munitions, chemical stores and other weaponry remained a mystery to Bruce, even as it seemed Joker knew their every location.

Wayne shook his head as his mind picked through the events of the last year and a half. The last time Joker had vanished, he'd gone underground completely for the period of a year. Bruce had never been able to determine just where he'd gone or what he'd done during that time, but somehow Lex Luthor had managed to keep him entertained enough to stay out of Gotham, while in the meantime setting up vast reaching businesses under Joker's alias of Jack White. It had all come to a head several months ago, when all those investments had turned out to be a vast plot meant to draw out both Batman and Superman. Clark had landed himself on the receiving end of a brutal beating by the Joker, their confrontation in Metropolis occurring at the pinnacle of the Thanksgiving Eve parade. Not that Batman had fared much better in Gotham. Lex Luthor had played the heroes just perfectly enough to get the drop on both of them and, using a new nanosuit that granted him powers mimicking Superman's, Luthor had managed to destroy an entire Batsuit, tear the nose off an older model Batwing, not to mention nearly break every bone in Wayne's body. Bruce had been less focused on the win at the time than saving Lois Lane's life, but that said, there are few ways to prepare for a man that can fly, tear through steel and go toe to toe with Superman.

He could still feel the aftereffects. On a daily basis he could feel his legs getting stiff, pain greeting him every day when he woke up, though it faded over the course of the day. The muscles in his arm strained in ways they hadn't used to as a younger man and, though he wouldn't admit it to Lucius, one of the reasons he'd conceded to the upgraded Batsuit armor was because of the fact he feared a decline in his effectiveness if kept absorbing injuries such as the ones Lex had given him. It might be a long time before he faced someone with such raw strength again, but every time he went out into the city, each time he fell from a roof, was slammed to the ground by thugs, was attacked by men who actually knew how to fight, it was one more bruise, fracture or split he couldn't afford to take if he wanted to remain Gotham's protector. The investment in the new Batsuit was about the city he loved as much as it was about preserving his body.

He sighed, taking a deep breath as he stepped toward the mirror, eyes examining his body, an image fit for magazines. "Well Bruce," he mused, smiling as he placed his hands on his hip, "At least you still _look _good, even if you don't feel it."

* * *

The Grand Palacio was one of the city's newest and most spoken of facilities to have gone up in New Gotham. Constructed in the style of the ancient Greek manner, with Corinthian columns that elevated the front archway and mammoth states that stood against red banners, with well trimmed shrubbery decorating the front lawns, massive spotlights that illuminated the rooftops and tore through the skies above, and a grand red carpet that swept out to the street. Limousines slowly glided by, pulling to a stop an unloading celebrities, politicians and the extremely affluent of Gotham. The press stood on both sides of the carpet, photographers firing off pictures, the lights of their cameras illuminating the guests. Reporters thrust microphones outward, catching the occasional quip and comment as the elites walked by.

Bruce looked outward from the rear of his vehicle, frowning as Alfred pulled them up to the front of the Palacio. "I hate these things," he said, fingers rubbing just above his eyebrows. "I can already feel the headache I'm getting."

Alfred's eyes moved to him, watching through the rearview mirror. "I understand, Master Bruce. The life of a billionaire playboy is such a tiresome burden."

Wayne glared at the older man for a moment before unlocking the door, swinging it wide and stepping out into a flood of lights that shot off one after the other, bathing him. Reporters snapped quick pics on their cameras, uploading them quickly to Twitter feeds and Facebook profiles, catching the arrival of Gotham's most famous son. Through it all, Wayne just continued to wave, forcing himself to smile, glossed shoes reflecting light as they carried him forward on the plush carpet. Though reporters peppered him with questions, he remained silent. He knew the way the tabloids worked, and knew that one statement, out of context, would land him in the headlines for a month. He preferred to speak when he was in control of the audience, and that wasn't going to happen on the red carpet.

He sailed onward, passing between the ocean of reporters that only allowed these celebrities space because of decorum. Bruce wasted no time getting to the stairs that led upward, his eyes measuring up the facility as he drew near. It was his first time he'd had a chance to see it up close, though he'd been aware of its completion for a few months. The first glimpse of the interior was, admittedly, impressive. A massive chandelier hung from above, casting a warm light down upon the main floor, whose marble tile shimmered with high polish. The opposite end of the massive room ended in double staircases that led upward to a set of doors, their golden handles glimmering, the wood itself a red, polished red. Just beneath the second floor, on the marble ground, a band was working its way through a number. It was a jazz set, one man occupying a huge bass guitar the length of his body, another on drums and a few on different horns. Tables lined the exterior of the room, while the interior of the floor was occupied by guests that mingled and danced as the music flooded the area.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne!" came a voice, Bruce's eyes turning to his side as a lean, sharply suited man emerged from the crowd. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Glad to be here," he replied, extending a hand, the two shaking a greeting. "Quite a place you have here, Mr. Vega."

"It's the least I could do to give back to my new home. The United States, and more specifically, Gotham City, have been very good to my business."

"International shipping, right?"

"That's right. We make ourselves quite a bit of money and, with Gotham's position here on the coast, it's given me a fantastic opportunity to expand my operations here in the states."

"So you don't miss Spain?"

Vega shook his hand. "Of course I do, but I can't slow down business expansion just because I miss my old country. The U.S. is rebounding from the recession much more quickly than Europe, and as a businessman, I have to go where the money leads. New Gotham is quickly becoming a hot destination for new business."

Bruce refrained from comment, suppressing a frown. People referred to New Gotham as if Old Gotham was a city that simply didn't exist. "Well, I'm glad to see that you've done well for yourself. It's always good to have new investors and Wayne Enterprises is always looking to partner with the right people."

"Of course, you make the inventions, I'll deliver them," Vega said with a wink, tapping softly at Bruce's shoulder as he gave a soft laugh. "At any rate, I don't want to take up too much of your time, but I did want to say hello. We've never really had a chance at a decent conversation so I'm glad you could come by."

"Well, I couldn't miss that," Bruce said with a nod to the banner that hung along the roof. The words "Charity Gala" were written in large, bold letters, and it was why they'd all come here. "The money we raise tonight is really going to help the people of Gotham."

"It most certainly will, and it doesn't hurt that we get a chance to make a few business deals on the side," Vega said with one last laugh, backpedaling as he did. "Enjoy yourself Mr. Wayne. I've got some guests to entertain, but we'll talk in a few minutes."

Bruce nodded, shaking his shoulders slightly as he descended into the party, a slight feeling of disgust in his bones. His skin crawled at men like Vega who, as per their nature, could barely conceive of an evening created exclusively for helping the needy. Everything had to be a chance at a business deal, a partnership, a financial gain. Of course Wayne never liked the idea of his company doing badly, as it had done the last half year when Luthor's Department of Defense dogs had withdrawn their government contracts from Wayne Tech. However, Bruce could appreciate coming together to help the least fortunate in a way that men like Vega seemed oblivious to.

As he waded between guests, making his rounds, he could sense the excruciating boredom creeping up his spine. Clark had told him, on more than one occasion, that he needed to open up a bit more. Be more sociable. Bruce hadn't agreed, but not because he disliked people, as much as he disliked the people he had to be sociable with. One hand he shook, as he forced another smile, belonged to a politician that had once tried to cut social nets for the poorest in Gotham. The tax increases and reduced funding he'd discussed threatened to shut down soup kitchens and overnight housing that hundred of Gotham's poor relied on for basic food and shelter needs. Another, a Hollywood star that called New Gotham his home, had no basic knowledge of economics, poverty, or any topic that extended beyond the latest blockbuster or fashion trend. Clark might have been as simple as that Kansas wheat his family raised, but at least he had a good heart, and any discussion with him was infinitely more interesting than what these people had to discuss. When every other conversation revolved around shifting stock options, revenue growth and profit maximization, Bruce's head started to spin. Tiring of it as the minutes drew long, he excused himself to the sidelines, parking himself at a table, his hand cradling a tall glass of water that he relied on now to help him maintain his patience.

"You look bored," a crisp, female voice said from behind him. He turned to see who it was just as she passed by, moving to the opposite end of the table, her black dress clinging along her hips and around her thighs. A glistening diamond necklace hung just near her collar, and a pair of white gloves ran up her arms to just past her elbow. "If it's any consolation, I'm not exactly thrilled with all this myself."

"Selina," he said, greeting her simply.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

He smiled slightly, glancing away. "Where'd you get the necklace?"

"I didn't steal it Bruce, if that's what you're implying. You know I never needed to steal, I just did it for the thrill. Don't act like you don't get a rush whenever you go out in that ridiculous outfit of yours."

"Mine is ridiculous?" he asked, pointing toward himself. "As opposed to yours?"

"At least mine looks fashionable. There aren't too many people running around wearing capes these days, unless you think Superman's making a bold fashion statement," she said, grinning.

He shook his head, glancing back at her. "You've still got your wit."

"And you've still got that famous Wayne charm. I've been watching you entertain the guests. You must have held up for, what? Forty five minutes before you got tired?"

"It's worse than training."

She leaned back, fingers resting lightly on her shoulder. "I'm not going to argue that Bruce. There are a half dozen places more thrilling than this one, but then again, the big Hollywood types haven't shown up yet. I might be able to land myself one of the wealthier ones before the night's done."

He gazed at her, face blank. "So you can steal from his safe?"

The glimmer in her eyes faded, the smile vanishing with his comment. "I wasn't lying when I told you I was giving all the up, Bruce." She leaned in, voice dropping to a low tone, just loud enough to hear over the music. "When all that madness went down on Thanksgiving Eve, who was there? I didn't have to help, Bruce. That sort of situation is a little outside of my experience, you know, but I did it. Give me a little credit." She leaned back, looking flustered. "Do you treat all your friends this way?"

Bruce frowned. Clark had asked similar things before, too. "I apologize."

"You've got one hell of a defense mechanism."

"I said I apologize." His jaw locked in that stern face he got when he was frustrated. "What do you want from me, Selina?"

She nearly laughed, glancing away, shocked. "What do I want from you? What do I want?" Her hand moved forward, grabbing the glass of water from his and pulling it toward her, taking a drink. "Damn," she commented, pushing it back. "I was hoping there was vodka in there or something."

"I try not to drink too much. With all the abuse my body gets, I try to spare it from any unnecessary damage."

"I can understand that." She shook her head, glancing away at the band. "I came to tell you that I've been doing some snooping around in Old Gotham. I really have given up the stealing game, Bruce. I'm not fencing anything, not selling anything off, but I still do like to get my kicks in. Girl's got to have something to do with her spare time. Anyway, I was taking a peek around Great White's place. I'd heard about him doing some investment in the area, so I got in, got a look, and got out. Picked up some papers on my way back, too. Turns out White's been moving a lot of money around, buying up some huge strips of land and property. It's not much to go on, but I thought you'd like to know."

Bruce's hands came together, fingers folding inside one another as he breathed in. "You're right, it's not much, but it's good to know."

"Yeah well," she said, beginning to push away from the table. Bruce suddenly stretched out, hand slipping around her wrist, tugging just slightly.

"Selina."

She looked at him, frowning. What is it Bruce."

He glanced aside, eyes going to the band, a large crowd now forming on the floor. "Did you... would you like to dance?"

She smiled slightly, pulling her hand from his fingers. "Thanks Bruce, but I'd rather not force you to do something you don't want to," she replied, pulling away a final time. "I'll make sure to send those papers by Alfred and, don't worry. I won't be robbing anybody tonight."

Bruce tried to protest but she'd already vanished, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as possible, leaving him alone at the table. He brought his hands up to his face, covering his eyes for a second as he sucked in air. Whatever else he thought of Clark, he had to admit one thing. Between the two of them, it was the Kansas kid that had ended up the better on with woman. Bruce couldn't even hold a conversation with one without insulting them.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon filed through a set of papers, eyes going through a list of names, his daughter Barbara seated opposite of him at the desk. She'd come in earlier that evening, the two of them anxious to go over the names of outstanding criminals that Gotham Police Department needed to keep a watch for, combining their knowledge and resources in an attempt to determine who was the greatest threat. He was aware of, even if he did not approve of, her role as Oracle. Much in the same way that he knew Batman was Bruce Wayne, it was not something he verbalized often, preferring to keep much of it close to his chest. Still, the unspoken truth always hung between them.

"Joker's always a threat," he said out loud, pushing the one page rap sheet to the side to the side, the clown's hideous grin decorating the corner photo. "How long has it been since he broke out?"

"Two months, I think," she said, sorting through papers in her lap. "I think he needed a break after that stunt he pulled in Metropolis."

"We know all the usual places he goes so I'll be keeping an eye out for any action in the old industrial sector." He paused, holding up another piece of paper. "Riddler. I've never thought of him as any more than a second rate Joker."

"Slightly different, dad."

"Yeah I know, but I'm not putting him on the priority list as of now," he replied, pushing the paper aside. "I wouldn't put Zsaz too high up, either. Obviously a threat, but not one that can do damage on the level of someone like..." he paused, shuffling a few more papers before pulling one more from the pile. "Well, like Harvey Dent. Two-Face. Word on the street is that he's been pooling a lot of the lower level street gangs, trying to get a force together to push in on Falcone's turf." He paused, holding up another paper. "I'm more worried about guys like the Penguin than I am of the Riddler. Lone criminals are a threat, but we can contain them. Guys like Dent and Cobblepot have money and organization, and have the planning ability to start all out turf wars that put hundreds in the crossfire." He slid the two rap sheets onto that of the Joker's. "That's what I'm trying to avoid."

"Got it. So this new task force you're putting together, it's focused on guys that organize on a larger scale, then? So you're not focused on guys like Killer Croc."

"Obviously nobody wants that monster on the street," Gordon replied, shifting in his chair. "But I'm trying to get these gang wars down. if Old Gotham has any more fuses planted in it, it's going to detonate sooner or later. The whole point of this unit is to defuse that bomb."

She frowned, looking concerned. "What's the plan then, dad? How are you going to manage that?"

"Much as I hate to admit it, we just recently got a donation from LexCorp. New weapons, those LX-100s. They give us an edge on the ground. Combine that with the exoskeleton suits, like the ones Metropolis' superhuman control teams use, and you're talking about a police force that can contend with any gang here in Gotham."

"I'm not so sure about this dad," she replied with a shake of her head, resting her elbow along the arm of her chair. "That's really impressive tech. Whoever you decide to give that stuff to, you'd better trust them with your life. After all the trouble we've had keeping honest cops on the streets in a city like this..." she trailed off, sighing. "I'm just saying to be careful."

He nodded, smiling, his eyes glancing just over his glasses. "Of course, Barb." He extended an arm out, finger jutting at her. "But if we're going to have that discussion, then I need to warn you to be careful of the same thing. We both know what I'm talking about."

A smile crossed her lips as she set the stack of papers onto the desk. "I suppose we all need to be looking out for ourselves."

"And each other. Let's not forget that."


	4. Chapter 3: English Accents Make Bad AI

**Chapter 3**

_"Watchtower Log. Even though it was Batman that really got the wheels moving on putting together our little Justice League, I worry about his role. It's really his idea, but he doesn't want to play team ball with the rest of us, and that makes me wonder why he proposed the idea at all. For right now, it's me and Arrow leading things up. We've gotten communicators to all the members of the team, except for Batman... who claims he'd rather be considered an honorary member. Whatever that means. As far as I'm concerned, it's Arrow, Batman and Superman at the core, especially after the events of Thanksgiving Eve a few months ago, but Batman refuses to keep in regular contact. I guess Superman would know how to best get a hold of him, but it bothers me that we have to easy way to reach him, or even keep tabs on how he's doing. I guess he prefers it that way, but I'm not too happy with this arrangement. Batman's a loose cannon, and the differences between him and Lex Luthor are that he just happens to be on our side."_

_-Chloe Sullivan-Queen_

"I'm surprised you called me out here at this time of night," Lucius Fox said as he tapped away on the computer keyboard, the massive screen before him flashing through different specs on the new Batsuit. "Especially since I thought you'd be spending all night at that fundraiser, you know, for the kids."

"I felt like eleven was a long enough stay for me," Bruce replied swift, adjusting the helmet on his suit, an electronic grid momentarily flashing before his eyes and the power switched on. "Besides, let's just say the night wasn't going too well."

"Ah, so this late night excursion isn't just for truth and justice. You've got a little aggression to work out."

"I never said my motives were completely altruistic."

Fox shrugged, a smile on his face. "Hey, I completely understand. When I was younger me and my brothers went to the gym to box it out when we were having a bad day. You just prefer to punch criminals instead of sparring partners."

Bruce allowed a slight smile as he worked at the gloves, the magnetic seals locking into place. "Something like that."

Lucius activated a button on the computer, the screen flashing a second before Barbara Gordon's face appeared in a small pop-in screen in the corner of the monitor. "You there Oracle?"

_"You know it, Fox," _Barbara said with a grin, staring at the two of them. _"I'm anxious to see what this new Batsuit can do."_

"Well, I'll be happy to see my baby getting a workout, that much I can say. Now, as you both know, I don't exactly have time to be coming down here every time you want to go for a jaunt, Batman, which is why Oracle's on the line with me tonight. Ignore the two voices in your head, but I'm going to be talking her through the remote control of your Batsuit, monitoring its different functions, that sort of thing. I'll also help you with any questions you might have along the way. In the future, if you want, I could even put in some sort of intelligent artificial intelligence, something you can talk to. A more realistic way of interacting with your suit. Hell, I could even make it sound like Alfred, if you wanted."

Bruce looked up, frowning, shaking his head as he turned slightly aside. "Remind me why anybody would want a British sounding artificial intelligence talking into their ear?"

"Hey, I was just tossing an idea around," he replied with a short laugh, looking down at the controls. "I get it, that's just a bit too much like a comic book."

"I've got Oracle to talk to if I need to, anyway," he replied as he stepped away, moving toward the Batmobile. "By the way Lucius, how's version three of the car coming along?"

"Well, we've got some kinks to work out, and we're trying to rebuild that Batwing you lost to Luthor at the same time. You've still got the new, stealth Batwing of course, and that car you're driving around in is fine anyway."

"Always just interested in an Edge, Lucius."

"Aren't we all. Anyway, all your suits systems are up and running. Get out there. I'll be on the line with Oracle."

Batman nodded, eyes glowing as power surged through the helmet, seating himself in his vehicle. With the roar of thunder the car sprang to life, its wheels shouting as the car shot forward, disappearing down the long stretch of grated road that led out of the cave. Fox smiled a final time as he took a seat in front of the computer, Barbara returning the gesture.

"He's always got to be grumpy, doesn't he?"

_"It's sort of his thing."_

A voice interrupted the two of them, Bruce cutting in. _"I'm still on the line, you know."_

* * *

Old Gotham, while only a third of the size that New Gotham was projected to grow to due to the greater landmass it would cover, was still a massive stretch of land housing millions across thousands of city blocks. As a driver passed through the new sections of the city, they found themselves surrounded by towering skyscrapers, shimmering glass windows, complex highway networks and digital billboards. Passing over the bridge to the old section of the city, those things fell away. Potholes began to mark the pavement, street lamps ceased to function, steel and glass was replaced by brick and concrete, the old, horrifying gargoyles perched on the sides of the rooftops far above. There was a definite, visual disconnect as one drove into Old Gotham, but it was what Bruce had always known as home when he was young. At that time, New Gotham had been in development, mostly a cluster of small, high tech businesses and wealthy Gotham socialites that chose to live off of the island. Now everyone wanted into the new city, since many thought the old parts of Gotham should just be left to the criminals that infested it. Of course, that ignored the millions of innocents that simply could not afford to leave.

As was normal for a night on patrol, Batman tucked the vehicle into an alleyway, one shrouded in almost pitch dark, armor seals enclosing the wheels, doors and windows, essentially making it impregnable. He'd learned early in his career, with version one of the car, that not doing so exposed it to vandalism and, worse, sabotage. It had been a hard lesson to learn when he'd returned to the car only to find that it had been shot up almost to the point that it was unsalvageable, which was when Lucius had come up with the idea for version two, the current model he drove.

His eyes scanned the rooftop far above, his enhanced vision measuring the distance in meters to the top, though as he raised his arm up, looking at the distant perch, he frowned. "Just think it, huh?"

_"Suit will take care of the rest, Batman," _Lucius said back, his voice warm and assuring.

"I'd feel better if I'd designed it myself."

_"Only because you're a mild control freak."_

"Thanks for putting it nicely," he said, focusing on the ledge, the top loaded gauntlet firing off. He watched as the grappling hook sailed over the top of the left, quickly retracting, the suit's internal parts whirring in motion as the device locked into place. His hand quickly wrapped around the rope that had fired upward, thinking it was time to elevate, and the rope retracting in response. He found his body flying upward, his other arm crossing over to grab hold of the rope as well, clinging with both as he sailed into the night sky. As he reached the peak he over shot the roof by just a few feet, body propelling upward and coming down onto the pavement, a controlled tumble rolling him forward. He grimaced as he came to a kneeling stop, planting his hand to the ground. "Did you see that?"

_"I can see everything you can see, Bruce."_

"Was I supposed to overshoot the roof?"

_"Not if you didn't want to, but you've got to will the suit to slow as you're peaking, so you can grab at the ledge."_

Batman shook his head, eyes moving toward the grappling hook, which folded into a flat edge and quickly shot back into his gauntlet. "It's going to take some getting used to," he complained, walking to the edge of the roof, eyes scanning the distance.

_"You'll get the hang of it. Now, take a look around. You can choose to switch between having the police frequency on, or off. Alternatively, you can also enhance your hearing to pick up on sounds indicating some sort of crime going on. The helmet will even give you a rough display of where the target is, and it gets more accurate the closer you are."_

Bruce nodded, simply thinking that he'd like to have the police scanner on, before the audio in his earpiece began to fill with radio chatter. _"All units all units," _broke one voice, _"Hostage situation at 34th and Vine..."_ His head snapped up, immediately glancing around, in the distance a white target forming over a spot only a few blocks away. "I'm assuming that's my destination," he said as he began to sprint forward, running as quickly as he could. "Or am I wrong?"

_"You've got it Batman," _Lucius said in return. _"Your cape has the same gliding capabilities it always did, and with the ability of your grappling hook to launch you upward..."_

"Got it," Bruce cut him off, glancing up at the rooftop that stretched far above him, arm raising up and an overlay display coming down on the projected target for him to strike. The hook in his left arm fired off, turning in a rotating motion that dug into the distant concrete, retracting while he was in mid step and firing upward. His body shot to the rooftop, flying into the night sky, his cape unfurling behind him, its electrical current suddenly turning it into an approximation of a wing suit. Wind caught beneath the cape as he glided forward, the rear of the cape having seemed to instantaneously attached to his boots and arms, his body pitching forward in a rushing descent. The display in his eyes tracked the target, which grew larger and larger as he crossed multiple city blocks in seconds, the target rooftop drawing near with every instant. The display in the upper side of his vision tracked his speed, and for a moment he considered just how fast he was going. "I'm hoping this suit has some sort of shock absorption."

_"You know it."_

He cringed as he sailed downward, a vague black shape against the night skies, police vehicles lined up outside of the building. Coming down at high speed the cape cut out just moments before his legs hit the ground, boots carrying him forward a few feet as they redistributed the shock of the landing, preventing any injury. He marveled at the technology for a second before launching for the edge of the roof, leaping over the side and dropping a floor down, mechanized grips in his fingers allowing him to easily catch onto the brick ledge of the window below. As his night vision flared to life he caught a glimpse inside the darkened room and, finding nobody, he quietly slide the window upward and hauled himself inside. He could hear the police speaking through a bull horn from street level, while inside a man shouted back, an argument raging between the two of them.

The helmet's sonar, which Bruce had incorporated as a part of his tech for a couple of years now, switched on at a thought, sending out a subsonic frequency that bounced through the halls and rooms, quickly absorbing data on motion and physical obstructions. A minimap in the upper left of his vision revealed only a single target in the area, just next door to the room he was in, his eyes darting to the wall.

_"Our upgraded Wi-Vi system is some new tech you'll like," _Lucius spoke into his ear. _"Basically uses low powered wifi signals to shoot through a wall and target only moving individuals. Once you've bounced your sonar a few times, and the Wi-Vi, you can essentially see through walls."_

Batman grimaced. This was incredibly tech, but the potential for abuse in the wrong hands was incredible. Still, staring at the wall, the vision in his helmet changed as a basic form of two humans came into view. In this view, it was an approximation of what the world might look like in constant X-Rays, with the two human bodies gigantic blue blurs. Still, he could clearly see the distance to his target, and could make out the fact that the hostage was clutched in the arms of the assailant, a gun undoubtedly in his hand. Slowly he crept out of the room, pressing his face alongside the edge of the doorway as he turned to look inside, the back of a tank top wearing, balding man greeting him, his arms wrapped around a woman wearing a green dress. He watched for only a moment as he shouted, screaming at the police below, threatening to kill her, his hand reaching down to the small gun at his side. It had a massive cartridge and three separate barrels in a vertical row, a small display on the front allowing him to see what was loaded. Though he'd never use real bullets, he had no issue with ammunition that would sedate him.

Drawing gun upward, only the softest _zzziiippp _sounded off as he squeezed the trigger, his target instantaneously dropping the gun as arcs of electricity surged through his body, much like a taser effect. He screamed for only half a second before falling to the ground, his victim falling aside as the man collapsed, Batman rushing forward to recover not only the small dart he'd fired, but the gun as well. The woman who'd been tossed aside screamed as he emerged form the darkness, eyes glowing in the inky blackness, a small effect Lucius had tossed in for theatrics but that could easily be switched off with a though. Outside he could still hear the police shouting and, turning to the woman, he drew a finger to his lips, calming her with a gesture of his hand. "Are you able to walk?"

Her face was streaked with tears, but she managed to shake her head, lips trembling as she did. He nodded, moving back to his feet, slowly approaching the window with both hands held outward. Far below, their weapons ready to be unleashed the Gotham PD hesitated, watching as Batman's form emerged into view. "The woman's safe," he shouted, the modulator at his neck piece amplifying his voice with that dark undertone that kept people from identifying him. "I've subdued the target. No need for violence, officers."

There was confusion on their part. Though many knew of Batman, had read about his exploits and knew, in their minds, that he was on their side, he remained a vigilante who operated outside of the law. None of them had seen him before, or knew how much they could trust him, and each waivered, looking to one another for a second before Batman launched himself out of the window, arms thrusting outward and his cape unfurling, giving him just a few moments of buoyancy before he touched ground, coming to a crouched position, gun in hand. He held it upward, allowing them all a clear view of it, before he laid it on the ground, kicking it forward.

"Are we done here?" he asked, a black silhouette carved into the brightness of their headlights. Nobody answered, a few minutes passing before Batman elevated his arm, looking upward as the grapple fired off, singing upward into the night, his form vanishing before the eyes as he sailed upward, returning into the skies. They all stood around for a second, stunned, before men started to move forward, rushing to the apartment doors as the woman in green emerged, crying but safe.

As he sailed away, glad to be done with itchy fingered cops, he smiled. "I've got to hand it to you Lucius. I've got few complaints."

_"Well, you can give me all your feedback once you get back to the cave. Enjoy your playtime for now."_

* * *

"Hi Alfred."

The dignified caretaker of the Wayne Manor blinked twice, somewhat surprised to see the young woman in front of him, her toned form and undeniable beauty traits she'd had with her since she'd first arrived on the Gotham scene years before, only a year after Bruce Wayne had emerged as the Batman, really. She was still wearing the black dress and white gloves from that night's party, her hair still pulled back and styled nicely. As of now, though, she seemed rather displeased.

"Selina Kyle," he said with a nod, gesturing into the interior of the home. "I only wish that Wayne Manor saw such beauty grace its halls more often."

"Well at least someone that lives here knows how to talk to a woman," she mumbled as she walked past him, moving into the nearby dining halls, a stack of papers in her hand. Alfred trailed closely behind her, wearing a simple cotton shirt and pants, a pair of dark slippers on. He couldn't be in uniform all day every day, after all.

"I'm assuming you're referring to Master Wayne," he commented, following her to the edge of the dining table, where she slapped the papers downward.

"Nobody else, is there?"

"You'll have to excuse him. Master Wayne isn't exactly the best when it comes to polite conversation."

"It's funny you say that. He can make polite conversation with almost anybody except the people that actually care about him," she said, sighing as she spread the papers out along the table, shaking her head. "Any idea why that is?"

"I couldn't say, Miss Kyle. Although, to be fair, the master has never had many people close to him."

She nodded, shoulders heaving slightly as she looked the papers over. "You know, when I first found out who he was, I really... I mean, I couldn't believe it. That guy? Bruce Wayne? A billionaire, with not a need in the world, leaping buildings and getting his kicks to crime fighting. Then again, I guess I'm not much better." She waved her hand in the air. "Except, replace billions with millions. Bruce has definitely got the advantage in the money department."

"You should know, of course, that you're exaggerating. Master Wayne has needs like all humans do. He may act like he doesn't, but even he needs to talk with someone, once in a while."

She turned, looking at him over her shoulder. "Guess that's why he's got you,."

"I've raised and cared for him since he was a boy."

"Yeah, that's another thing," she said, standing straight up, eyes looking out the large windows that opened up on the country side, the glittering lights of New Gotham shining in the distance. "The thing about his past. I mean, I don't want to pry..."

"Then on that matter, Miss Kyle, let me interrupt. There is nothing about Master Wayne's past I would be willing to discuss. Everything involving his parents is a matter of public record, and the more personal details are his to share, or not, as he wants."

Her head clicked to the left, near her shoulder, her finger pointing back at him. "You're right, Alfred. I don't have any right to pry." She sucked in a deep breath. "But, I mean, seriously. I'm not asking for him to be my best friend, just some courtesy. I mean, wouldn't you like it if he let you off the hook once in a while?"

"He's actually become much better about that," he replied, a slight smile coming back to his lips. "Although I think the lady acquaintance I met a few months ago has something to do with that."

Her eyebrow cocked upward, the edge of her lips curling up at the mention of it. "Alfred, you sly dog," she said, turning again to look over the papers. "I'm happy for you. Anyway, do me a favor and tell Bruce these are the papers I told him I'd run by the mansion. There's not enough to piece together everything that's going on, but from what I've been able to piece together, someone's piecing together the entire east side of Old Gotham, buying it up using different buyers. I haven't tracked the others yet, but these are the latest acquisitions. They were purchased by Warren White, also known as the Great White Shark. I'm going to be going out to do some more digging around, but this hasn't been the first purchase of huge amounts of property out there. If all that land's being bought up by guys like White, it makes you stop and wonder why."

"Indeed Miss Kyle," Alfred said, concerned, walking up to the table and taking a look over the various papers. "When you say they're buying up all the land on the east side of Old Gotham, how much property are we talking about?"

"Everything useable from a public perspective. Not houses or private homes, but warehouses, factories, shipping yards, manufacturing plants, everything. It's all getting absorbed out by people with a lot of money to throw around. I'm just afraid that when it all shakes out, guys like White are the ones doing all that. Because if so there are a lot of power hungry creepers out there getting their hands on big strips of the old city. I just need to find out why."

"I understand, Miss Kyle. I'll inform Master Wayne of this development as soon as he awakens."

She looked at him, doubtful. "You don't have to lie to me, Alfred. I know what Bruce does at night, and usually that's not sleep. I'm sure he's out there right now, getting his thrills beating some unfortunate soul's head in."

"Well, for what it's worth Miss Kyle, he did mention that the only reason he was heading out tonight was because the night had taken a bad turn. I'm assuming that had something to do with whatever happened between the two of you."

She shrugged, stepping back from the papers. "Not that it matters." She was on the verge of continuing when a clicking sound filled the air, something sliding in the distance catching her attention before footsteps began to emerge from the hallway beyond. She looked to Alfred then to the arch leading out of the dining hall, two voices softly conversing as they emerged into the dining area. One she recognized only from the newspapers, Lucius Fox, current head of Wayne Enterprises, though that was only in day to day operations. The other, though, was unmistakable, considering the number of times they'd crossed paths over the years, both in and out of costume. He was wearing a pair of training pants and slippers, his broad chest uncovered in the cool air, a short towel draped around his shoulders. As they stepped into the room, both shot glances first to Alfred, then to her, Bruce stepping forward instinctively and putting himself between her and Lucius.

"Selina," he said, slightly surprised, a rare occurrence for a man who disciplined himself on a daily basis to anticipate all possible events. "You're... here."

She folded her arms at her waist, turning on a heel, smiling. "Looking good Bruce. I hope you had fun."

He stared at her a moment longer, mouth hanging slightly open, before glancing back at Lucius. He only returned a whimsical smile before scurrying forward, saying not another word as he spun back to face Bruce a final time, signaling his goodbye with a faux salute and a wink. Bruce shook his head, glancing to Alfred, then waving to himself. "Would you mind getting me a shirt?"

"Of course Master Bruce," Alfred replied, obviously amused with the situation, taking a deep bow as he backed away from Selina's side. "I'd be eternally ashamed if I allowed you to die of pneumonia."

"Or embarrassment," Selina quipped as Alfred vanished into the depths of the mansion, her fingers dropping to the papers on the table. "Just thought I'd bring these by, like I said I would," she continued, grinning. "I could just leave now if you want me to."

"No, no," he waved her off, taking a few more steps toward her. "I really wasn't very gracious earlier."

"Got that right. Anyway, that's not why I'm here."

"Still. You deserve better."

"Stop it, you'll make a girl blush," she said, collecting all the sheets into a single stack. "As soon as Alfred gets that shirt for you..."

"Right. Down to business."


	5. Chapter 4: Cats and Donuts

**Chapter 4**

_"Nobody can get behind Batman entirely, not even the people that like him most. The problem is that he works outside the law, with no sense of loyalty or cooperation with anybody inside the normal bounds of government or law enforcement. Don't get me wrong, he works with me, for reasons I don't always understand. We both have a thing for getting the streets clean, not to mention the department. Still, I'm one of only a few exceptions, and everybody knows that Batman's only a good guy for as long as he's on your side. He doesn't care about normal issues of jurisprudence, Miranda rights or jurisdiction. He's not a cop, and he'll take any measures necessary to accomplish his goals, just short of killing. That sounds well and good when he's fighting guys like the Joker, but what happens if one day, he thinks of you as the enemy? He may be Gotham's silent guardian, but who watches the watcher?"_

_- James Gordon_

Bruce Wayne sorted through the papers, nodding in confirmation of Selina's hunches, eyes creeping over location after location as he sorted out the scope of the property acquisitions he was looking at. "These purchases at least five square miles of ground on the east side of Old Gotham."

She nodded, taking a seat opposite him, the two of them sitting across a coffee table, the warm fire in the hearth lighting their figures. "Yeah, and that's just the acquisitions by Great White Shark. From what I'm hearing, these aren't the only purchases being made, but I don't have the resources to track down all the buyers or find out how much ground they're snatching up. If they're all guys like Warren White, it's a problem."

"I agree."

"I'm assuming you already have a few names in mind."

"And you don't?"

She smiled, crossing her leg over her knee, her back sinking into the plush chair. "A few. Two-Face comes to mind. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's got the ambition, not to mention the money, to make some significant investments in Gotham."

"Agreed. He's not the richest out there, but he's been involved with Gotham's criminal underground so long he's accumulated a significant amount of wealth. I'd say that ranks him fairly high."

Selina nodded. "Then there's the birdman."

"I was thinking Penguin, too. He's the wealthiest of anyone of the super villains, considering how profitable the Iceberg Lounge is, not to mention any other one of the businesses he fronts throughout Gotham. It helps that he inherited so much from his parents."

"Weren't they business partners with yours at one time?"

"For a while," he replied, shrugging. "Not that it lasted long. Cobblepot's parents were as crooked as he's become."

"Fair enough. So then that leaves..."

"Roman Sionis," Bruce finished for her.

"The Black Mask."

He shook his head, leaning forward as he did, hand resting on the papers before him. "I'd think that if anyone was going to make a major move, it'd be him. If White's going after these properties, there's no way Sionis is sitting on the sidelines. He'll take it as a threat to his holdings in Old Gotham, and if there's one thing he doesn't like, it's threats. Especially not from someone he considers to be a cheap ripoff of himself."

Selina's lips curled into a smile. "He's still got a grudge against White I guess?"

"Forget the fact that White lost half his face due to his run-in with Mr. Freeze, while Sionis just wears a mask. The fact is that the both of them look like they're running around with colored skulls, and Sionis hates the thought of being mocked. White's a great businessman, and a decent criminal, but Sionis is a stone cold killer. If push comes to shove, and it looks like White's pushing, my first concern is that Black Mask will retaliate."

"Got it. So next time I head out, I should be heading Sionis' way."

Bruce's face slowly rose, hands folding before his lips, eyes peering just over them for a moment before he raised his chin. "I don't want you going anywhere near Black Mask. There's hardly a better shooter in all of Gotham, and even Deadshot's only got a slight advantage when it comes to handhelds. He won't hesitate to kill, and he's got the muscle to lockdown his territory."

"Thanks for the concern Bruce. You do know how to make a girl blush," she said, her harms folding across her chest as she grinned, though eyes glimmering with the dancing fire. "But I was doing this gig a long time before I ever met you, and my history with Sionis goes back longer, all the way back to when he was trying to shut down my cosmetics company with his. So as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I think I need to get out there and see what he's up to."

"I can't allow that, Selina."

"You think you can stop me?"

His hands dropped, eyes looking away into the flames. "I just don't want to wake up one morning and read that you were found dead off the coast."

"I don't want to read the same about you, Bruce, but I'd never tell you what you could and couldn't do."

"Fine," he replied curtly, eyes shooting back to her. "Just be careful."

"It is nice to see you care once in a while though."

"There's no question about that. I care for anyone I call a friend."

"That's right. Friends."

His eyebrow arched, fingers folding in his lap. "Is there an issue?"

"No, I guess not. I mean, it's not as if we've never done more than acting friendly, right?"

"Selina."

She glanced away, lips rigid. "Do you regret telling me, Bruce? About your identity. Do you wish you could take it back? Maybe then you wouldn't feel obligated to keep this dance going with me."

"It's not like that. I don't regret telling you, but I think about all my enemies, what they could do if they caught you. There are almost a dozen people in my life, three here in Gotham alone, that know my identity. There was a time I'd hoped that number could remain one, Alfred. As for obligations? There are times when things might be simpler if we'd remained behind the masks, instead of mixing all this together."

Her face turned to his, her fingers gently pushing on the arms of the chair as she began to step toward the exit of the room, eyes downcast as she began to walk away. "Sure sounds like you regret it to me."

Bruce pushed off his chair, onto his feet, though he remained planted near the table. "You know what happened when I was a child, Selina. The things you seem to want don't exactly come easily. Not with me."

The young woman's black hair ruffled for a moment as her shoulders shook, her body swiftly turning graceful even in the heels she wore. "I know, Bruce. I got it. Nobody exactly comes up well adjusted when they've had their parents killed in front of their eyes. I don't think there are many people that would have chosen to remotely live the way you have, fighting for a city everyone else has given up on. I get it. I respect it. I know you've got some issues because of it, I'm not questioning that. Let me ask you something, though. I've looked all this stuff up about you since you told me who you were. What do you know about me? My parents?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know Sionis' history, right?"

"Yes."

"Riddler's"

"Of course."

"You know what sort of home Mad Hatter got raised in?"

He frowned, hands crossing in front of his chest, an exasperated sigh escaping lips. "You know I do."

"I bet you don't just keep tabs on them though, huh? How about Nightwing? Or Zatanna? You know all about their histories?"

His hand went to his forehead, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I have to know that. I need to know I can trust the people I associate with."

"Fine Bruce," she shot back, throwing a hand slightly into the air. "It just seems odd that you don't know a damned thing about me." Her body went into a spin once more, feet carrying her the final steps to the door. "You're probably right. It was a bad idea you ever told me who you were. Just makes things unnecessarily complicated. I'll be in touch tomorrow once I've gone down to Sionis' place." With no further words her legs propelled her forward, heels clicking on the long hallway that led back to the front doorway. It seemed an unnecessary punishment to have to storm out of a room, then be forced into a few minutes of walking before she could slam a door shut. The entry couldn't come quickly enough and, hand quickly darting for the handle, she turned with a gasp as a slight coughing erupted behind her. She span around, eyes flying open at the sight of the plain shirted Alfred, who emerged quietly from near the staircase. "You scared me half to death!" she exclaimed, a hand moving over her heart.

"I apologize Miss Kyle," Alfred replied, bowing his head slightly in deference before straightening to look her in the eye. "I just thought I might have a word before you leave."

Her eyes moved back down the long hall, where Bruce apparently still remained. "Yeah, sure Alfred. Just make it quick."

"I couldn't help but overhear the conversation between you and Master Bruce. I hope you'll forgive me for eavesdropping."

"Believe me it's the least of my problems tonight," she replied, head lowering, her hand reaching up to rub at the back of her neck for a second. "Bruce is a real piece of work."

"That's just the thing, Miss Kyle. I had a question to ask you. I thought it might help you understand the master's motives."

"Um. Okay? Shoot."

"Did you ever wonder why it is that Master Wayne feels so compelled to look into the backgrounds of so many people, even the ones he calls friends? Or wonder why you're one of the few he's never felt compelled to do the same with?"

For a moment Selina stood there, confused, her lips parting but no words coming forward for a moment. "Uh, no, I never thought about it like that. I guess I just thought... I don't know, that he didn't care about it, really."

"There are few things he doesn't care about, he just shows it differently. He cares to research the backgrounds of so many people to prepare. To know he can trust them. Even, at times, to prepare to fight them, if necessary, something he does even among his closest battle comrades. Strange he never felt compelled to do the same to you."

Her lip twisted as she processed the words, eyes shooting back down the hall, then to Alfred, then to the door behind her, before she turned to face him a final time. "So, are you saying he didn't, because he trusts me?"

"I think Master Bruce would rather hear about your history from your own lips, rather than have to read it in a newspaper, as he's had to do with so many others."

Selina's hands went to her head, rubbing at her eyes with her palms. "I can't process this right now." She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. "Alright, I'll patch this up, but later. I can't just let him off the hook for being so... obtuse, all night."

He smiled, nodding. "I wouldn't expect you too. Just know he treats you differently for reasons other than the ones you're thinking."

"Thanks Alfred. He's lucky to have you around."

"I'm praying I won't be the only company he keeps over the next year, as he's so often done," he replied with a wink, gesturing to the door. "Now go on, before he catches up to with you."

"Got it," she said, turning and fleeing out the doorway, back into the humid summer air. It was only moments before a firm voice broke out from the darkness of the hallway, a large figure emerging by the door.

"What did you tell her?" Bruce asked, a massive frown decorating his face as he came into the light of the windows that ran down the side of the doorway, his imposing frame hovering by Alfred.

"Why sir, I was merely telling Miss Kyle to be careful tomorrow. As much as we all love Old Gotham, we know exactly the sort of place it could be."

His frown did not fade, instead his eyes boring into Alfred, though the elderly father figure took no mind of it. "Are you lying?"

"Master Bruce, you're the world's greatest detective, a master of investigative and observational principles. Surely you know whether I'm lying or telling the truth by now, sir," he said, flipping about on his heels and approaching the stairwell. "Now if you'll excuse me, I do believe we've all stayed up far too late. I'll be in my quarters if you need me, and I recommend you get rest yourself."

Bruce stared after him as Alfred ascended upward to the second floor of the manor, jaw slightly agape as his gaze turned to the windows, watching as the lights of Selina's car burst to life the vehicle accelerating down the road leading back to Gotham. "Just too much happening tonight."

* * *

Barbara Gordon looked over the papers, frowning, her father sitting beside her at the table. It was a dreary morning, splatters of raindrops striking the glass outside, a concrete sky hanging above the city. Gotham had never had the reputation of being a place of sunshine and rainbows, but there were better days, and worse. Today looked like it was going to be worse. The skies had began churning early, the clouds rolling in from off the coast, sweeping over the seas before descending upon the city like a raging mob. She'd left her home that morning wearing a sensible skirt and blouse, only to find herself running around the city sidewalks, dodging underneath banisters and inside stores as she made her way from one place to the other. Her boots, soaking up moisture with every splash into the puddles of water that were spreading along the ground, had taken on a dark tone. It was one more pair she was having to ruin because of Gotham's inability to just be _pleasant_.

"You okay there Barb?" James Gordon asked, hauling a plate toward the table. He'd dressed as he almost always did, in that large trench coat and suit, an outfit he wore even as summer was creeping upon the city. Today, it had paid off, offering him protection from the elements. "You look like you're shivering a bit."

"Just a bit. Was just out in the rain a bit too long," she assured him taking her cup of coffee off the tray as he set it in front of her, his hands sorting through the donuts and passing hers along before he broke off a piece of his own, dipping it into the brown contents of his cup.

"I'm glad you were able to make it out. Had a few more things I wanted to run by you."

"Yeah, I was a bit surprised. Normally you're at work by now."

"Well, I'm having to head out to the east side of the old city, just to check up on some things. We've been getting some reports out of there and, I don't know, city wants to wrap things up as soon as possible if there really is any trouble brewing. Just thought I'd get a little time in with my daughter before I had to do that."

"What's going on?"

He shook his head, looking uncertain. "It's hard to tell, just rumors for now. You know Carmine Falcone?"

"Dad," she said, looking amused. "Who doesn't. He only runs the largest criminal syndicate in the city."

"Yeah well, these new criminal types, guys like Two-Face, Penguin, even Joker, they've been cutting into his business a bit at a time over the years, and he's done his best to avoid outright conflicts, but we're starting to think his patience is wearing out, especially as some of these gangs are getting larger and larger. Pretty soon, he won't be able to call this city his anymore, and nobody around the department thinks that he's going to sit on the sidelines any longer."

She set her cup down, taking a plastic knife and cutting into her donut, her fork stabbing into it. "What's going on? You get news about him?"

"Not exactly. Just... suspicions, I guess. There's been a lot of business going down in Old Gotham, properties bought up, businesses snatched, and it's hard to tell who's buying what. What we do know is that it's taking up a lot of property that used to be Falcone's, before he lost it after all hell started breaking loose with these new types of criminals. He had to give up a lot of that area because there just wasn't a dollar in it, and now, somebody's going in and taking it. Word on the street is Falcone's not happy about someone else profiting on the industry and buildings he built out there, and when Falcone's not happy, trouble follow."

He sighed, lips curling beneath that big gray moustache of his. "And I can tell you, for a fact, that he's not happy about this Vega guy that's moved into Gotham. You and I both know that Falcone's had his hands in a few dozen different businesses over the years, some legit, some not." He motioned between them. "We also know that Roman Shipping, one of the largest shipping companies in the world, was run under Falcone's nickname for years. Now, Vega's moved in, so Falcone's getting squeezed by criminals in the underground and Vega, in legit business. Money's the one thing Falcone understands, and he's not making nearly as much as he used to." Gordon's head slowly nodded, his teeth nibbling at his upper lip. "He's going to move, soon. I don't think he can touch Vega, not with the money that guy's tossing around right now and the protection he's buying, but Falcone didn't become who he is by just sitting around and letting other people muscle him out. He's going to go gunning for someone. I can feel it, and I'm not the only one."

Barbara looked across the table, hand drifting forward to her father's their fingers entwining with one another. "Dad. If you need help."

"Barb," he said, pulling back slightly. "This is my job. It's what I do. I believe in what my department does, much as I appreciate the outside help we get. If all we ever did, though, was go running to the Bat every time we had a problem, we'd be admitting that the people of this city don't have what it takes to stand up to the bad guys on their own.

"I know. I believe in you. Everyone does. They all see the work you done all these years, and they know that you, if anyone, can help clean Gotham up."

"I appreciate it."

"But if there's anything, absolutely anything, I can help with. Or, you know who."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not stupid," he said, grinning. "Besides, right now, we're just doing principal investigations. We're running a team down there soon, tracking down a few leads. You know, basic groundwork stuff. If you catch word of anything though, you let me know."

"I wouldn't do anything less. I had heard about the property purchases, but as far as I understand, the buyers are mostly undercover. Money's being funneled through a lot of places and it's almost impossible to track. Only solid lead we've got is on Warren White."

"Great White Shark," Gordon said, voice dropping as he leaned back, fingers rising to his forehead. "Well that's just the sort of thing to really turn this into a mess."

"We both know White's the best man in Gotham when it comes to moving money and dealing with financial stuff, but he's not exactly a criminal kingpin. He's good, not great."

"Maybe, but a large scale purchase would be just enough to push Falcone to act. Let's hope he understands this is a potential powder keg."

She nodded. "Falcone's not stupid, either. He'll pick his fights."

"That's what I'm saying though, Barbara. If you're Roman Falcone and you're looking at a least of criminals in this city you want to pick a fight with, Great White is near the top of the list. He doesn't have the experience guys like Two-Face or Penguin have, and he's never had to contend with all out ground warfare." His hand flopped back down onto the table. "I'm just saying I hope things stay under wraps for now. I can get the new Gangland Unit rolling out in the next day or two but we're still prepping those guys, training them on the weapons, all that. If anything goes down in Old Gotham I'd rather have them ready to go than still learning how to fire their guns."

"I know what you mean, dad. It never hurts to have some extra power on your team."

* * *

Harvey Bullock examined the LX-100 rifle that had been shipped from Metropolis, the LEXCORP insignia on the side of the boxes reminding them all who they were indebted to. He frowned, his large, square jaw stiffening as he held the gun upward, eyes scanning up and down its body. "What the hell is this thing?" he asked, tossing it onto the table as if it were a stick, panicked technicians suddenly jumping out of their chairs.

"Detective Bullock!" one almost shouted, dashing over. "You can't just throw these things around. If they're strong enough to hold back superhumans they're capable of outright killing humans, if not adjusted properly!"

"Well then adjust them!" he replied, flipping out a cigarette and shoving it between his lips, his hands following it up with an ignition of his lighter. Smoke began to drift upward into the air as he took a satisfied inhalation of the lit cigarette, eyes closing for a second as a sweet look of satisfaction crossed his face. "Aaaaahh!"

The technician glanced up, impotent rage mixing across his features. "Sir... Detective Bullock!" he almost screamed. The large, bulky detective glanced downward, eyes peering out from beneath the round brim of his brown hat.

"What the hell is it, geek?"

"Sir, you can't smoke around the equipment! The ashes from the cigarette smoke can get inside of the mechanical parts and ruin the weapons. Besides, the city has an ordinance saying there's no smoking allowed inside of public buildings?"

"And since when do I care about the city's laws?" he joked, snatching the cigarette from his mouth and swinging it downward, dousing its lit end on the butt of the rifle as the technicians looked on in shock. "I'm kidding, of course. After all, I'm Harvey Bullock, Gotham's hero," he said with a wink, turning about and heading for the exit, his hand raising in a goodbye as he did. "Anyway, tell me when we're ready to take these things for a test run. Imma go get myself a drink before we start firing these things off." The door to the technical lab slammed shut as Bullock vanished from the premises, his feet carrying him up the stairs and out the rear door of the Gotham Police Department headquarters, where he carried on so much of his work with Commissioner Gordon. His hand reached into the inner pocket of his trench coat, fetching a steel flash from deep inside and bringing it to his lips, eyes gaze moving out across the city and to the east, where the Waterfront District marked Gotham's center of trade. "We're going to come gunning for you Falcone," he said, raising his hand in mimicry of a gun, his index finger retracting as if he was pulling a trigger. "And with these babies backing us up, you're not going to have a way out of your predicament, this time." He chuckled, swinging back the flask for a final drink. He may not have liked the idea of borrowing from Lex Luthor, but he sure as hell enjoyed the thought of nailing Roman Falcone, Gotham's oldest and most established criminal, after years on the hunt. "Promotion," he said with a large grin, "Here I come."


	6. Chapter 5: Night Cat Strut

**Chapter 5**

_"I don't know what I can tell you that's not common knowledge. When Master Bruce lost his parents, I was the only person that could care for him. I'd tended to the Wayne Family for a few years, in my retirement age, having left England following a stint in the theater. My legs were still achy from my time in the army, and my voice was wearing thin from the nightly performances. Having had to spend more than a long nights moonlighting as a chef, waiter, and laundryman, I'd learned more than my fair share about cleaning before Thomas Wayne arrived in London, he and his wife on holiday. I was fortunate enough to be assigned to their room, which I knew would be good for a few extra pounds that I could spend. Somehow I left an impression on him, and he hired me on to take care of his home. Those were some of my happiest, and busiest, years, and in those days Gotham was still a bright city. When young Master Wayne was born, it brought a new life and energy to the household, and in many ways I was already treating him as a son, long before Thomas Wayne departed this life. When he and Martha were taken, leaving just the young master and I, it was a frightening time. I did not know whether I could care for him through a lifetime or not. Today, though, I can proudly say that I am glad to have been given a chance to bring him up. There are few men better than Bruce Wayne in this world."_

_- Alfred Pennyworth_

As night descended on Old Gotham, a trim, athletic figure raised upward from one of the many rooftops that trailed out toward the shore. Her eyes gazed down upon warehouse after warehouse, her fingers clutched tightly around the whip in her hand, ready to unleash it in mere moments. Many people often wondered how she was able to get around so swiftly, considering the vast distances she could cross so quickly. Usually, moving across the rooftops of the closely clustered buildings in the old parts of the city, she was able to move from rooftop to rooftop simply using her athletic gifts. Her natural leaping ability surpassed even Batman's, considering her compact and lighter form, and large gaps were little obstacle to her. However, that method only worked to a point. Afterward, it was her whip that became her secret weapon, though many people did not completely understand how it worked. Many people assumed that she simply had incredible accuracy, allowing her to catch hold of distant objects and swing her way to new ground. She knew differently. Years before, using the wealth of her family, she'd commissioned its construction. It was intelligent, a number of sensors inside allowing the whip to detect an approaching perch, an electric signal circulating through it that caused its tip to curl and tighten around pipes, gargoyles, and other number of structures. It made for a fun toy, considering she could even use it to catch the legs of her enemies, not only tripping them but electrocuting them, shocking them with enough force to make them pass out. Of course, all that said, sometimes her best method of getting around was just an old fashioned run. Few people could keep up with her at top speed. Still, the whip was best for crossing incredibly large distances at a rapid pace, though the threat of plunging to her death was serious enough that she had to be at top focus when using it.

It had allowed her to cross deep into Old Gotham with relative ease, until she'd found herself dancing across the rooftops of buildings she knew were being hotly contested at that moment. Once upon a time, before she'd embarked on her own career as the Catwoman, the old city had been run by Roman Falcone. His shipping business had dominated everything on the waterfront, while his clubs, plants, and factories kept the interior busy. People resented his criminal actions but even legit workers had to comply with his demands. After all, he was the one providing paychecks. Just a year before she'd arrived on the scene, though, Falcone had started to slip. It had been very gradual at first, when he'd been forced to abandon some of his property as a terrorist named Dr. Death had begun to bomb or gas any place that brought a significant income to the city. In some attempt to undermine Gotham's economy, he'd gone after the largest business owners in the city, hoping to destroy their industries. At the time, nobody had been bigger than Falcone, and the bombings had been reprehensible to him. Even though Roman was a criminal, he'd always conducted himself by a code of honor, priding himself on his American citizenship and twisted versions of the country's principles. He'd considered himself a businessman, not a gang head, and while he'd never been opposed to violence against rival gangs or individuals, the thought of trying to wipe out the economic contributions of his rivals had always been aborrent. The bombing of everyday working Joes had been abhorrent to Falcone, who'd considered himself a friend of the working man, a good employer that got men into jobs. Dr. Death had been very distinct, his goals unclear, but his attempt to destroy the city's economy distinctly anti-American, at least in Falcone's eyes. It had led to a brutal crackdown in the streets as he'd sent his men out in search of Death, the gang members conflicting with police in the course of their separate searches. Only a violent confrontation that Batman had participated in, resulting in the destruction of the old Ivo Chemical Tower, had put an end to that street war. Since then, Falcone had been involved in a number of others, but he'd constantly ceded grounds to men like the Penguin and Two-Face, guys that Falcone considered freaks without any sort of honor code.

That's where she was now, in the middle of an war zone that was constantly shifting grounds. One week this area might belong to Great White Shark. Another day, it might be Penguin's Two-Face's, or the Black Mask, and they all handled things differently. Two-Face was concerned less with economic growth and more with power grabs. Black Mask was a businessman, and tried to turn profits from every inch of ground he took. That streak went all the way back to his days as a corporate businessman, before he'd lost whatever sanity he'd clung to. Her eyes moving down the length of the streets, she could see men walking back and forth along the sidewalks, semi-automatic rifles in their hands, their suits colored in splashes of black on one side and white on the other, denoting them as some of Two-Face's enforcers.

"Harvey's got to get himself a new color scheme," she mused, smiling as she ran forward, muscular thighs tightening as her calves clenched, legs propelling her from the side of the building and onto the nearest rooftop, her feet never losing their stride. Coming upon a building that rose high above, too far for her whip, her hand shot to the simple grapple gun at her side, firing it upward so that its cumbersome hook elevated upward within seconds, catching onto the interior of the rooftop. She leaped from the building's edge, the rope quickly retratcting, her body carried upward as she zipped toward the rooftop edge. The fingers in her free hand grabbed at the ledge, hauling her body upward in a smooth motion, the gun going back to waist alongside a half dozen other toys she kept. For a few moments more she leapt and ran from rooftop to rooftop, eyes occasionally flirting down to the street level, watching as the double painted thugs slowly started to vanish off of the street. Soon there was nobody on ground level, but she knew was moving into murky territory, an area of the city where several of the most active gangs had given up any claims on territory. It was a free for all, a no man's land, where protection was not offered and retribution never came. To gang claimed to be in control on the streets that were far below, as she passed over what had once been one of Gotham's most famous business squares. A water fountain that sat at its center still shot bursts of liquid upward, its basin filling, the large street roundabout encircling it as the streets cut off into a half dozen directions. People didn't come out after nine at night in this part of town. Most of the time, gangs stayed off the street until around midnight, but here in No-Man's Land, even they stayed out of sight. The violence could just escalate too quickly, with small chance of help.

Still she propelled forward, her hand grabbing at her whip as she leaped into a chasm between the buildings, her hand flicking the weapon outward. Its tongue lashed at a distant fire escape, the sensors detecting its surface and the electrical current in it causing the long 'rope' to curl around the round handrail, tightening within a second and allowing her to swing. She shifted her body so that her feet swung outward, the long arc passing down toward the street for a second before she released the electric current, the tongue of the whip loosening and setting her back down onto the ground as her thin frame swept into an alleyway. It all happened within seconds, though she turned her gaze over her should for just a moment to ensure she had gone without detection. Seeing little but the grimy orange light coming from dilapidated street lamps, she carried on, moving forward through the alley, cutting to her right and then again, at another juncture, to her left. A large fence ran upward from the ground, though she leaped upward, hand grabbing at its top. The momentum swung her feet upward, her head looking toward the ground as she arced over the top of the fence, coming back down on her heels and dashing forward. She smiled, satisfied at the acrobatic action. Whenever Batman was confounded by her ability to withstand some of his best moves, despite all his years of training, Selina felt compelled to remind him that she was the faster of the two of them, the more acrobatic and, as they'd found out numerous times, the most flexible.

She came to the corner of the alleyway, goggles slid down over her eyes, nightvision illuminating the way ahead. The storms from earlier in the day hadn't completely subsided, and huge thunderclouds were still hovering high above, blocking out any light the moon might have provided and making it difficult to see in this section of town, where many streetlamps and public lights just didn't function anymore. Still, she could see well enough the row of warehouses that extended down this stretch, all the way to the docks. Their mammoth doors were sealed shut, lines of parked delivery trucks fenced in around them, the windows of offices darkened. Eyes scanning the streets and the fenced parking areas of the warehouses, her enhanced vision allowed her to see figures strolling by, rifles in hand, their faces wrapped in horrific masks. Black Mask had run an organization known as the False Face Society almost from the day become active in Gotham City, and all of its members were recognizable by the hideous masks they chose to wear to hide their features. Very often they were like Black Mask's, hideous and grotesque things such as the ones she saw now. One was a bleeding skull with vacant eyes, the other a scarecrow's mask that brought to mind visions of Jonathan Crane, the real Scarecrow. More frightening were their weapons, which she had to avoid at all costs. She didn't travel around with the sort of heavy armor Batman employed.

The only light in the area were the meager lamps illuminating Black Mask's warehouses, those that hung over their doors or provided light in the parking lot. Fog was rolling in off the ocean, and in the distance a lonely boat's horn could be heard mourning in the night. With such perfect cover, she turned the cover, creeping along. At this point in her career, she'd spent years learning where Gotham's wealthy hid their valuables, and where Gotham's criminals kept their secrets. Her role as thief had transformed from thrill seeker, to thrill seeker with a slight bent for justice, and she licked her lips as she thought about what she might find when she reached the Mask's offices. She was aware of its location, knew the distant office building that was nestled in between a number of the warehouses, and she moved like a shadow among shadows, progressing along the chain link fence around the nearby warehouses and alongside its mammoth walls. Several buildings intersected in junctures, and she turned and maneuvered among the confusing, interlinked alleys, feet silently carrying her forward until she'd reached an opening in the buildings.

It was a large clearing, at the center of which stood an ebony structure about four stories high, its windows darkened except for a few lights illuminated on the top floor. Black Mask ran his waterfront operations from here, though he preferred to keep his activities quiet. That was the simple reason why the structure had been buried in a maze of twists and turns, and why the building itself was so easily overlooked. The Mask's main office was much more luxurious, but the times he came down here were spent trying to avoid detection. A few lights dotted the area of the building, dirty beams trailing down from tall, overhead lights, while a few figures slowly drifted about. Their eyes peered down various alleys, guns draw for a second before they moved on. Just feet away from here, hidden in the darkness, she saw one such guard, his back just toward her. With great caution she crawled forward, leaping onto his back, a hand slipping over his mouth while her arm tucked tightly underneath his chain. Applying significant pressure, the blood cut off from his brain and the man collapsed within seconds. Her feet braced upon the ground as his large frame fell back into her arms. She demonstrated surprising strength as she dragged the body backward, hauling into the pitch blackness of the alleyway before she began to move forward again, only steps behind men who could not hear her and definitely not see her. As they continued to walk off into the distance, she zipped away, avoiding exposure in the light of the few lamps that illuminated the grounds as she came to the wall of the building, her body pressing tightly to it as she slinked behind a stretch of bushes.

Her eyes peered upward at the ledge just above her head, the window shut but loose. Eyes peeking over the edge of the shrubs, and seeing her nearest targets at safe distances away, she turned her gaze into the dark interior, ensuring nobody was within. Spotting no signs of movement her fingers went to the windowsill, fingers sliding beneath it and gently tugging it upward, just high enough to tuck her head beneath. Hands stretching into the room, she pressed against the interior of the wall, forcing the rest of her body along, her legs gliding within. For a moment her arms held her body weight aloft as she silently landed on the floor level, turning quickly and lowering the window enough that her entry would go undetected. As she glanced around, she realized she was in a rather unremarkable office, the lights turned off, a desk in the corner empty except for the computer monitor that just barely glowed in the night.

"Glad to see he's concerned about the environment and conserving energy," she said with a grin as walked to the exit, planting her ear firmly against it as she listened to any activity from outside. Hearing nothing, the tugged on the latch, a soft _click _just barely clicking the silence as she let herself out into the hallway. Glancing up and down both sides of her, she saw the glowing crimson EXIT sign to her left, and she moved toward it, remaining low to the ground and taking quiet footsteps. At the hallway corner she again secured a view down the next hall, ensuring nobody was there, before moving toward the door. She'd memorized the building's layout before she'd arrived and knew that while this did lead outside, eventually, it also led to a fire stairwell that ran up every floor of the building. Her hands pressed against the pushbar on its front, an echoing noise emptying into the stairwell. It was loud enough that she quickly shut the door behind her, moving up a flight in hopes of avoiding anybody that could have heard the noise and pursued. Still, a flight up, her eyes peering toward ground level, she could see nobody coming after her. Satisfied after a few moments of watching, she continued her ascent quickly moving to the top floor, quickly coming to the doorway that led back out onto the fourth floor hallway. Yet knowing this was where Black Mask did so much of his business down here, she took a precaution, sliding toward the ground and extracting a small device from her belt.

It was akin to a metal bookmark, incredibly thin and no longer than her index finger. Placing it at the bottom of the door, she gave it a quick tap, the device sailing into the hallway beyond. Her hand moved to the small control, no larger than the palm of her hand, that she always kept in her toolbelt, pressing on a key and her vision quickly changing. Her eyes filled with a nightvision view of the next hall, revealing nobody beyond, a thin smile crossing her face as she pressed on the pushbar and moved within. Quickly she recovered the small spy device, slinking along, ears listening for any motion. The hallway ran in a square formation, so while her view had allowed her limited vision, there were plenty of places left to hide. Still, moving with grace and quiet, she pushed onward to the glowing light that spilt out of the doorway window in the middle of the office on her left. It was the only room lit on this side of the hallway but, given the SIONIS nameplate just next to the handle, it wasn't difficult to tell whose room it was.

She halted just aside the window, lifting upward on her legs, her eyes peering into the room beyond. It took only a moment to spot a figure standing above the desk beyond, his head aimed downward, examining the many papers in front of him. Her eyes widened at the sight, her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the figure she was staring at and, wasting no moment and wanting to get out of the hallway, her hand flashed to the door handle. It turned and gave as she pressed forward, stepping inside, the man's head shooting up in surprise, their eyes meeting as they stared at each other from across the hallway.

"Catwoman," he said, plainly and without a hint of emotion, hands going to the pair of sunglasses that decorated his face. "Always a pleasure to see you."

Her arms folded at her waist as she took small steps toward him, that famous grin of hers flashing at him, face hidden behind her mask and the goggles over her eyes. "The Broker. I'd have to say the same."

"Please, let's not be formal," he returned, gesturing at her. "I understand why you have to keep your identity hidden, but I have no such concerns. I'm Sherman Fine to everyone, whether the Joker, you, Batman or Commissioner Gordon. The Broker just has a certain ring to it on business cards."

"Glad to see we're on talking terms, Sherman," she said as she halted in the middle of the room.

"Are you still occupying that small apartment I got for you here in Old Gotham? I know when you contacted me you said you needed a place to operate out of whenever you were on this side of town. Understandable, since the East End is a good distance away, and I imagine after a long night you'd like a place to see."

"It's working out for me. Very comfortable, and nothing so fancy it catches the attention of all the second rate thugs and thieves that are on the streets."

"Well, the security system I had installed for you should deal with most of those."

"Fortunately, I haven't needed to use it yet."

He gave her a smile, motioning to her. "Glad to see it. You look great as always." He paused, holding up a sheet of paper. "Though I suppose you're not here to flirt and have me compliment your figure."

"While I could use more men in my life doing that, you're right, I'm not here for pleasure. I've actually been looking into a few purchases that have been made here on the east side of Old Gotham. You know, I really should have gone to you first. It would have been the smart thing to do, but then again, I'm going to guess that you're not exactly up for sharing who's been buying what down here."

"You know the rules. I can't retain clients if they think I'm going to give away their secrets, after all. Would you have trusted me to arrange the purchase of that apartment if you'd thought that I would give away where you were living?"

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Though I'm curious how strong your resolve is. I don't suppose that threatening to hang you out that window behind you would have any effect on your disposition?"

He smiled. "Come on now. No need for violence, or threats. We both know I won't say anything no matter what you do, and we also both know you don't kill just for the fun of it. I may be a nice target, but I'm not one that talks, and you're no assassin." He waved around the room. "Besides. It already looks like you have a suspect in your investigations."

"I do. Tell you what though, Sherman. I'm going to ask you two questions. You're right, there's no reality where I'd kill you, but if you can answer me just these two things, you'll make me a really happy girl. Just answer if it doesn't give away too much."

"If it confirms something you already know, then I'm not really giving away anything, am I?" His smiled widened as he set the paper down. "What are your questions then."

"I already have proof Great White's been buying up property down here. Got the papers and everything on that. Still, one of my first suspects was Black Mask. Am I on the right track?"

His face lowered slightly, the smile never fading. "I think we both know that answer, Catwoman. You know he's involved, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"True, and that's what makes this next question that much more important. Why all these purchases, and is there any evidence of it in this office?"

His eyes turned upward again, staring from behind the dark tinted glasses, that handsome cut of blonde hair streaking across his forehead. "Even if I knew why there was so much action going down out here, you know I wouldn't tell you, so there's no point in asking. I never ask my clients why they want me to arrange a purchase. As to your second question, though, I can honestly say no." He shifted the papers around on the desk. "Come over here and take a look for yourself though, if you want. You'll find nothing. These are all expense reports, expenditures, just some basic accounting Black Mask paid me a handsome sum to get in order. Nothing you'd find interesting, not as far as your investigation goes, anyway."

Her lips jutted outward, blowing warm air into her face. "Didn't really think so, but it was worth asking. Not entirely sure how much I should trust that second statement though."

"I'd never lie to a client that has paid me as well as you have. I enjoy maintaining my business relationships, after all. That said, I like you so much, I think I'll chip in one extra piece of information to you."

Catwoman's ears perked up at the notion. "What's that?"

"Only recently, Black Mask installed sensors on the threshold of all the doors in his offices, basically meaning that there's a constant scan going on anyone who comes in and out of them. If you're not carrying an official ID card issued by him, a silent alert goes out to his guards." He tilted his head back toward the window. "If I were you, I wouldn't stick around too much longer. You've already wasted enough time chatting with me."

Her eyes shot behind her, to the door, sounds suddenly filling the air outside, forcing her into a sprint toward the window. Tossing it open she began to crawl around outside, her slim figure jutting outward and glancing up, finding a spot to latch her whip. As she readied it, she glanced back at him, shaking her head. "Twice in two days I've had to do this."

"Just a consequence of the job."

Selina's lips curled upward as she gave him a final look. "Thanks for the help, Sherman." With that she fell outward, her whip curling and pulling her body upward to the railing above. Watching as she slid up the exterior building wall, the Broker leaned out, looking up as she ascended the short distance, and whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"Call me!"


	7. Chapter 6: Plans In Motion

**Chapter 6**

_"I don't know how you can honestly talk about Roman Falcone as if he's not as bad as the Riddler or Black Mask. He was organized crime in this city a long time before anyone else could get a handle on how to organize. He's maintained above ground businesses for as long as he's run his criminal empire underground, and he's kept so many politicians and judges in his pocket that no one, and I repeat, nobody, could put him away if they tried. The closest anybody has come to replicating Falcone's success, as an organized criminal empire, has been Black Mask and his False Face Society. On a long list of people I'd like to put away, though, Falcone was always on top. Joker might be crazier, and guys like Mad Hatter or Riddler give you the creeps with some of what they do, but Falcone was never somebody to underestimate."_

_-James Gordon_

A trash can burned brightly in the night, the fire pouring from its mouth spitting small embers that drifted upward into the night sky, illuminating the grimy faces of those that stood nearby, hands outstretches toward the warmth of the flame. It was a nightly ritual in Old Gotham, a product of the cold nights that came as the stars ignited, the sun drifting beyond the western horizon as all the lights of the city suddenly sprang to life. Far above the rooftops of the dilapidated structures of Old Gotham, the towering skyscrapers of glass and steel burned with a vibrancy that was missing in the old city. New Gotham was a dream, a place beyond men and women like those that stood around the fire, bodies draped in worn trench coats and newsie caps that were pulled tightly down over their foreheads.

"What's the word tonight," a voice spoke into the quiet, a new figure pulling up to the can, his smile flashing between members of the circle. They welcomed him with smiles of their own, raising hands in greeting and welcoming him among them. Flophouse Jack was an old acquaintance of the people in this area, always good company and good for information.

"Not too much new, Flophouse. Another day, another dollar I didn't make."

"Sorry to hear that Ben," he returned, tucking his jacket tightly around his frame. "I'd hoped things had gotten better."

"Yeah, you disappear for a while. We get worried about you," said another voice, thought it too was cheerful.

Jack shrugged, looking across the circle. "What can I say guys? I go wherever I can earn myself a few bucks. I try to avoid spending my nights out here in the alleys, no offense."

"None taken," he responded, a few of them chuckling at Jack. After all, if any of them could, they'd be out of the alleys and streets in a second, off to warmer homes. "I've spent a few nights over at the Wayne Shelter the last week, but tonight they were all booked up. If I could have gotten off work just a bit earlier, I might have made it in time to get a bed but hey…" He shook his head, holding his hands up. "What can a man do?"

"I hear that. Guess that's why we all end up having to split time with… well, you know."

There was another round of nods to this, though everyone remained slightly quiet. Each knew what was being referenced, but conversation about it didn't come easily, at least not all the time. Their faces flashed with moments of nervous anxiety whenever the topic came up, but it had to come up, at least some of the time. "Yeah you know," one person finally began to add, speaking slowly and only with hesitation, "I've been hearing a couple of things. Lots of hiring going down on the east side, down by the waterfront. Lot of work if you're okay being some muscle."

Another man nodded, though there was a sadness in his eyes. "Yeah, I've been hearing the same thing. I just don't know if I want to be putting my neck on the line again like that. I was okay with it the first few times, when I was younger… just…" He stopped for a moment, eyes pinned to the fire. "Just working for guys like that can get you killed."

A round of agreement came in unison to the sentiment, each man shaking their head. Jack agreed, but look bothered. "I know it's not the best work around, but if you keep your head down, and try not to get involved with anybody too crazy… like the Joker…"

"Hell no!" shot one man back, laughing. "No way I'd ever work for him. But I mean, the guys hiring right now…"

"I've heard something about this," Jack added, looking to his right. "Hear Great White Shark was trying to pull extra muscle for some of his warehouses."

"Heard the same thing."

"Anybody else hiring?"

"Penguin's in on it for sure. Been hearing nothing out of his gang lately except how they're planning to make a push back against Black Mask. Mask's been trying to buy up everything out on the waterfront, and not everybody's taking a liking to it."

Jack frowned, rubbing his hands together and generating just enough friction to keep them warm. "Black Mask. Great White. Penguin. Lots of rich guys in on this."

"Hey, you know I've been hearing something else on the street," chipped in one of the women who stood there, her fingers brushing some of the hair from her face. "I didn't know how to take it since I didn't even know he was out of prison, but apparently Lew Moxon's been sighted in the area, and he's been traveling with some heavy duty guards. Guess that's not surprising since he used to run half of the east stretch here in Old Gotham, but he's out of jail now, and I don't think he's wandering around here just for nothing. Lew's got something up his sleeve."

"I don't like the sound of it," Jack said, taking a nervous peek over his shoulder, as if he expected one of these criminals to suddenly pop up. "Lew's part of the old order, before guys like Joker and Two-Face showed up. He got outplayed at his own game, and if he's trying to get back in on the business out on the waterfront…"

"Yeah, I know. It's already squeezed as it is. One more player is just going to make the whole place explode."

"That's what I'm scared of." He tucked his hands away, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket as he took a step back from the trash can. "Hey, I'm going to cut this short guys, not feeling so good about things happening out here on the streets. Got me worried."

"I don't blame you. Take care of yourself?"

He nodded, yanking a hand out quickly and waving at them as he stepped away. "All of you, too. Don't get yourself caught up in trouble you don't need. I want to see all of your around here again soon."

They tossed him cheerful goodbyes as he stepped away, vanishing into the rolling fog that came during the Gotham nights, its hazy mists plunging between buildings in the alley and consuming his figure in its impenetrable hold. His hand drifted up to his ear, pressing lightly on the small device contained just within. "We have a problem."

_"So I took it," _came back Oracle, her voice tense. _"You've got a lot of big names playing for the waterfront."_

"I don't get it. Vega owns the whole operation out there. It doesn't matter how much guys like Black Mask and White Shark try to buy their way into the trade out there, Vega's got the majority of it in his pocket. Sure they'll get some money out of it, and they're going to make enough profit just off some of the factories and plants they've bought up, but the big money is in trade and that's Vega's, legitimately. As far as I know he's above board, and he's got lucrative deals with companies like LexCorp. He doesn't need to deal with Shark or Mask."

_"You think they're playing for the trade business in Old Gotham?"_

"I don't see what else they could be aiming for. New Gotham is being built on the profits from that business, and Vega's got cash that guys like Great White could only dream of. They want in."

_"So they're trying to muscle each other for what's left of the trading business."_

"Right, and once someone comes out on top, or they get tired of going at each other, someone's going to go after Vega. There's no way they let him keep operating that business legally."

_"I've got a meeting with my dad in the morning. He's been putting together a new team to target the organized groups in Gotham, so I think he'd be naturally interested in guys like Black Mask and Great White. He's certainly interested in the Penguin. I'll see what we can do about getting Vega some security too. Just, one last thing."_

Bruce shook his head, already knowing what she had to ask. "Lew Moxon. Don't remind me. That's a ghost from the past I'd rather not have to deal with."

_"When Falcone was running things, he was a huge mob boss. He kept Falcone on his toes and operated half the plants, factories and warehouses in the east stretch of Gotham."_

"I know."

_"And… and even though it turned out not to be true, we did have that… suspicion about him."_

Bruce came to a stop, his own hands barely visible in the fog. "It turned out he wasn't tied to the deaths of my parents."

_"Something you found out from a criminal you're not even sure you can entirely trust."_

"I believed it then and I believe it now. Besides, I'm not interested in reopening old suspicions. We need to focus on what's in front of us. We know Lew Moxon is back, and we know he's running around Old Gotham, even if we don't know what for. We're going to have to find out what he's up to."

_"Yeah, sorry. I'll see what I can dig up on him when I'm pulling profiles on our other suspects."_

"Thanks. Let me know as soon as you find out what Moxon's been doing the last few years since he got out of Blackwater."

_"You got it."_

* * *

Jim Gordon stood before his newly assembled team of special responders, their LX-100s locked in special cases just feet away, where Harvey Bullock, his large frame and massive gut leaning against the security releases that prevented ease of access. Jim stood before a whiteboard, three mugshots, blown up large enough for the team to see, hanging behind him. His finger drifted to the first, of a man whose face was pale white, with large, sharpened teeth and receded eyes. "Warren White, A.K.A. the Great White Shark. Originally a wealthy stock broker and financier, he was brought up on accusations of embezzlement. Now, we all know how hard it is to get the insanity plea to stick, but White had enough money to buy him time outside of prison and in Arkham Asylum. Turns out it was a bad move for him. After a short stint that left him physically beaten and tortured on several occasions, he was imprisoned in Mr. Freeze's cold cell. The effect, as you can see, was extensive. The frostbite caused not only the loss of all his body hair, but a seemingly permanent condition in his skin that leaves it anywhere from gray to pale white. Following that incident, White actually did go insane. Those sharpened teeth are a result of surgery, not a result of his encounter in the freeze unit, and he did it to make his overall look more consistent with that of a Great White Shark." Gordon shrugged. "A loon, but one with a lot of money at his disposal, and probably the best businessman in the criminal underground right now. He's got the resources, but not the experience dealing with other of Gotham's criminals on a regular basis, since he's one of the newest arrivals to the city's crime scene. That leaves him vulnerable. Still, he's got the money to buy men, weapons and to expand his financial empire. He's not to be trifled with."

Gordon thrust his hand back up to the board, this time to the middle photo. "Roman Sionis, A.K.A. The Black Mask. Sionis has been with us a lot longer than White, and like White, he's got a background in business that has helped him rapidly expand his empire. We suspect him of also maintaining above ground businesses in tandem with his underground operations, and don't take his fortune, made while he worked for a cosmetic corporation, as something to laugh at. Sionis has quickly become one of the wealthiest and aggressive criminals in the Gotham crime scene. Whatever mental break Sionis had, in the years following he's maintained an incredible business acumen, and an ability to identify the weaknesses of his opponents. Like White, he knows where to invest, and get his returns. Unlike White, he has experience, and is a lethal combatant. Black Mask is a master of disguises and goes undetected for long periods using his ability to meld into the city's population. It allows him to run multiple businesses under a variety of guises, and so far he has evaded tracking for that reason. When running his organization, he most normally wears the skull like black mask that he gets his name from. His False Face Society is a lethal criminal organization, and at least twice they've rivaled the old Falcone empire in terms of scope and revenue. In addition, he's known to be a lethal hand to hand combatant, able to hold his own against Gotham's vigilantes such as Nightwing and Batman. Finally, his accuracy with two pistols is such that he rivals the accuracy of a marksman such as Deadshot. Under no circumstances can I understate this: Roman Sionis may be the greatest threat we currently face in Gotham."

Jim turned a final time, gesturing to the final photo, a crazed old man in a top hat staring with dead eyes toward the camera. "Finally, there's not a man here who should not know about Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, A.K.A. The Penguin. One of Gotham's oldest and ruthless criminals, Cobblepot's roots go all the way back to the early era, from the time of the Falcone empire. At the time we were unaware of his underground operations, and knew him mostly from the Iceberg Lounge, which served the general public of the city and generated substantial revenues for Penguin, while also serving as an underground lounge for the criminal elite of the city. Cobblepot is distinct from the other two men on this list. While valid arguments exist that both Great White and Black Mask are insane due to the types of trauma inflicted upon them, Cobblepot has never been considered mad by the same measure. He's a shrewd businessman, principled to a degree, still attempts to generate public respect for his above ground persona, and operates in the underground with a stealthy hand. He makes a massive income serving as a go between for other Gotham criminals, facilitates trades and transactions, fences rare and valuable antiques and merchandise, operates a massive drug trade, and any other number of businesses. The biggest distinction between Penguin and men like Sionis is Penguin's reluctance to get into all out wars with other criminal leaders in the city. Penguin has the genius to undermine the economic fortunes of even men like Great White, which says something about this man's intelligence. The fact that we now suspect he is becoming aggressive in expanding into the waterfront means he must be getting concerned about his financial holdings. If so, then we know something big is happening in Old Gotham."

Jim sighed, looking from man to man, hands resting at his waist as he slowly paced back and forth between them. "When we first began to bring this group together, it wasn't only because we needed muscle to go toe to toe with the gangs that men like Sionis are running. What I asked for, and what I believe, today, that I have received, is a group of men that will not compromise or bend. I believe you will all uphold the law even under duress." His hand pulled at his coat, the badge at his hip flashing in the dim light. "This is a symbol. It embodies everything we represent, everything we stand for, and all the values we must show. Nobody is above the law, and we cannot compromise with men who think they are. I believe each and every one of you has been screened and tested by a psychologist from the Menger Institute." He chuckled, waving a hand in the air. "Look, I'll be damned if I know what that is. What I know is that the department contracted the best shrinks around to run you through, make sure you value upholding the law just as much as I do. Maybe more," he said, grinning. "So I know you won't back down. You won't take bribes. You won't let men get away with breaking the rules that govern this city. You'll be brave, when other men would shrink away. You have the heart, the principles, and the dedication."

He paused a moment, glancing from face to face. "Outside of me, you'll also be reporting to Detective Bullock. You may have seen him around the department, and you may know him for his rough reputation, but there are few men I'd rather have at my side. He's had his troubles. Hell, we all have. We're in this room because we've earned our way here, because we've shown we will stand up to the criminals trying to take our city away from us. If you have any questions, or anything to report, going to Harvey is as good as coming to me."

Jim came to a halt In the middle of the room, pointing upward, into the police department above. "Now, there is one other man you need to be aware of. Rick Sandras is our tech guy, the one coordinating our signals, our weapons, everything. All of what we're using is cutting edge stuff. Yeah, they've been using it in Metropolis for a while now, but then again they've got an alien problem over there. The weapons we've been given will fire clear through a building at maximum setting, so we've all been trained on their uses. We can't afford screw-ups with these. One wrong blast, and that's a life lost. The battle gear we're going in with, on the other hand, is Wayne Tech stuff. The helmets we're wearing provide enhanced vision and targeting, and it's linked to your weapons. Communication is relayed through Rick who records everything we do and say. Sort of helps to cover our asses, in case anyone tries to accuse us of abuse. He's in charge of making sure everything runs smoothly, and while I don't think you'll have to be in touch with him for any reason, just know that he's the guy when it comes to the hardware."

The commissioner sucked in a deep breath as he tried to wrap up the speech. "Now, as far our immediate priorities? Given the nature of the conflict out in Old Gotham, we're going to start doing some investigating, try and track down where our targets are. Once we've got a solid location, we move in, clean and quick. Our hardware gives us an advantage against superior numbers, but we have to use restraint, and we can't just jump in to the arrest. I don't want just one of these guys, gentlemen. I want them all, and we're going to need evidence. Sionis we can wrap up because his rap sheet's established, but Penguin? He's been keeping his nose clean enough that we can't easily nail him, so we're going to have to tie him to what's going on. Same with White. White's too new and we don't have a case on him outside of the old embezzlement charge, and even that was commuted following the incident in Arkham. So we need to get hard evidence on him and the operations we suspect him of running. That means tying each one of them to the gangs they're operating, the violence being committed, not to mention all the illegal activities they're engaged in. As a final wrinkle, we have to worry about Mr. Vega, who's basically running the trade business in Gotham these days. The criminals we're targeted are going after the area of business he runs, so we need to keep tabs on him and just make sure he's okay. I'm not losing anyone else to these criminals."

He waved his hand in the air. "Anyway, that's the rundown. Check with Harvey for your individual assignments, because each of you has to tackle one element or another of these operations. It's not a small task, or an easy one. Then again, you knew that when you signed up. I'm looking forward to seeing the results we get from our group."

* * *

A glove clad hand pointed downward at a map of Old Gotham, crisscrossing its surface a few times, drawing out boundaries. "This, here? Penguin's territory. Over here…" the finger moved again, deeper into the city. "Great White's. Now, this large chunk, right on the waterfront?" His hand shifted a final time. "Black Mask's. It should be no surprise that he has the best real estate given what he's done over the years. There are, of course, some wrinkles to this map. Two-Face has shown some aggression, trying to match everyone else's moves, so his territory is expanding a bit here and there. You've also got the remnants of Falcone's shipping empire in spots on the waterfront, but he hasn't been the same since Gordon, Dent and the Batman sent him into prison. Of course all of their properties together don't match Vega's holdings, which are the single largest stretch of warehouses, ports and shipping vessels in the city at this juncture."

The gloved hand withdrew, bathed in shadows that were born from only the dim light glowing in the hearth's fire. "The problem at hand is controlling the violence that may erupt. I understand the terms of what I've been hired to do, and I don't see any problem in the plan, per se. To be honest with you, it wouldn't matter to me whether or not it was working. I'd still manage to fulfill my end of the bargain. After all, I always do. I'm merely stating an obvious fact. There are a lot of players in the game, a lot of pieces on the board, and you can't always predict the outcome."

The man shrugged, his broad, strong arms crossing in front of his chest, masked features providing no sense of what he was feeling. "All that said? I'm looking forward to it. There's little in the world to make a man feel alive like a good fight, and that's all I can see coming out of this scenario, regardless of how it plays out. Whether you're completely satisfied with the end result, I don't know. I do have to say your ambitious, and not entirely what I expected. I don't ask questions, though. I just do my job. I'm hoping that over the next few days you are happy with the end results." He shrugged once more as he turned away, back toward the table on which the map was strewn. "And if you're not, I won't care. I'll get my end completed, like I said. If all this you've set in motion turns to ruin, you'll only have yourself to blame. I suppose we'll find out soon enough."


	8. Chapter 7: The Madness of Gotham

**Chapter 7**

_"There is a future we must all be careful of, something we have to guard against. As we give up more and more of our ability to act independently, as we give up our autonomy for greater efficiency, we also give away our initiative and our ability to know our limits under the most strained of circumstances. Certainly no man is an island alone, and those that think they are fail to understand the many people that contribute to his success. Still, there is something to be said for allowing a man his freedom, his independence. We live in an age where technology is overwhelming us, where our locations, thoughts and ideas are being shared at a pace incomparable in human history. Now, we have to take a step back from the abyss. The training of officers has become a type of brain washing, the safeguards and protocols on weapons are tailored to the needs of their designers. More and more, we cannot act independently without first being given the go ahead, and technology is ushering us toward a dangerous precipice in which man is controlled by his tech as much as he controls it. We have to be constantly vigilant of this fact."_

_-Bruce Wayne_

"Your mom's not happy," James Gordon said as he walked across his office, hands latched to his hips, the old man's face worn with lines that had been born from years of stress, a stress that came with trying to deal with Gotham's criminal issues. "I know she hasn't been real happy with this new push I've been making on trying to clean up Old Gotham."

"I guess she doesn't see the point," Barbara said from her chair, eyes drifting across the desk before they raised up to look at her father. "A lot of people don't see the point dad. I think that, really, they'd be just fine if you blew up the bridges and let the old city fend for itself."

His grey streaked eyebrows rose slightly as he stared at her, pants held up by those old fashioned suspenders he continued to insist on wearing. "And you, Barbara? Do you feel like that? Should we cut off Old Gotham and let it wither away? It's a lost cause, after all."

"Dad, you know I don't agree. Mom's saying what she's saying because she loves you. If I were in her position, having gone through everything this family has, I'd be upset too. I mean, who wants to keep fighting a war that doesn't seem to have an end? I believe in the old city, though. If we were to just let it go, there are millions of people out there that can't afford the move. If we say don't care about Old Gotham, we're saying we give up on a whole population that has too much debt to sell their homes and move, not mention all the people that live on the streets. I couldn't live with myself if we just said goodbye to them. Besides, I'm not sure I enjoy New Gotham all that much more, anyway. Everyone's playing a business game, trying to one up the other, hoping to be the next big business tycoon. Vega's a great example of that. He's got no ties to this city, no reason to care, so once things dry up here he'll just pull up his roots and move on. That's what makes him different from a guy like Bruce Wayne. Wayne's been brought up here, actually cares about the people, and if Old Gotham goes down I think he'll be willing to go down with it. There's no way he just gives up on his parents' legacy."

"Sometimes I just need to hear someone else say that they care, too, Barb. It get hard doing this day to day." He gestured down his frame, taking a heavy breath. "I don't get the worst of it anymore, but I spent a lot of my youth on those streets, dodging bullets, getting into fist fights with hired goons. A long time before I hit forty, I was already slowing down. My body just couldn't keep up with the damages, and you can run up that debt only so long before time comes to collect. Last few years, after I made it up the ranks, I've been spared some of the physical abuse. Still," he waved his hand at the desk and the tons of paperwork sprawled out across it. "Other times I just get lost in the maze again. Late nights, dozens of cups of coffee, endless deadlines and the constant reminder that people are suffering out there aren't exactly good for the mind, or the heart. I can feel that burden getting heavier as I go on."

"Well hey, dad, you don't have to carry that on your own anymore. You know that. I might not like Harvey, but the guy's your muscle. He's on those streets constantly, and I don't care if he's got his eyes on a big promotion, what's important is that he doesn't have them on the next bribe. Sure I wish he'd get over his drinking issues, and hitting on me at parties, but…"

Jim chuckled, a hand sweeping across the back of his head, his fingers probing at the tender muscles of his neck. "That's Harvey for you. A bull in a china shop is what he is, but you either take him as he is, or leave him. He's got issues, a lot of them, and he wants to move up the ladder real bad, but he's not going to take a bribe. So far, at least. I just hope he sticks." He thrust his finger forward like a gun, popping a non existent trigger. "Also, not sure if I've told you this enough, but I've appreciated your help around here recently. You don't owe it to me, but I really appreciate the extra hand. You've got the mind for it, and I've never really understood why you didn't want to go into detective work, considering all the time I've seen you sink into helping with some of these profiles. Doesn't matter, really." He shrugged, smiling but his eyebrows slightly upturned, a subtle sorrow in his eyes. "Last few years have been really difficult between us. I haven't seen nearly enough of you, at least not as much as I've wanted, and to be honest, there was a point that I thought you had just moved on."

She shook her head, taking a step toward him. "Things haven't been perfect between us. Hell, they're not perfect between you and mom, either. Just seems like everyone that gets wrapped up in trying to protect this city has some secret desire to ruin their life. If you're a policeman on the force you can look forward to a career of dodging maniacs like Joker or Black Mask, putting your life on the line for pay that you could make somewhere else, somewhere safer. Any politician or judge that tries to stay clean ends up with their body floating off the waterfront. If you somehow survive, you ruin any chance of a decent life. No love, no secure marriage, no fun times."

"It's not all bad, Barb. Things are better between me and your mom. Believe it, things used to be worse. Especially after you…" His voice trailed off, his eyes drifting to her abdomen. She grinned, her fingers dropping to the bottom of her shirt and just barely pulling it up above the waist of her pants, revealing the scar from her surgery. Jim shook his head, turning away as she dropped the shirt, the elder Gordon sucking wind. "That night, Barbara. My God. When I'd heard the Joker shot you…" He shook his head, feeling her soft hands as they came to a rest on his arms, her head lying against his back.

"Dad. I love you. You know that right?"

"I love you too Barbara, that's why, when that happened… I thought that was going to be it for me. I almost… that night, I almost killed him, you know. If not for Batman…"

"Well, that's another ally you have, even if he's as screwed up as the rest of us trying to save this city."

Gordon nodded, turning to face her. "The night it happened, he got to me just a second before I pulled that trigger. Joker could be dead right now."

"You wouldn't have pulled it, dad. You're a great man. I know you wouldn't take the law into your own hands like that. It's not who you are."

His eyes shimmered in the cold, artificial light that streamed from the ceiling. "I pray your right, Barb. All I know is that Batman punched his free pass with me that night. After that, I gave up most of my reservations about him."

"Most? Even after that? Not to mention helping you put away Falcone that first time."

"Most, Barbara. At the end of the day, I'm still a police officer, sworn to uphold the law. He's a vigilante, and even if he's on our side, Batman operates outside the law. He's only a great guy as long as he's on your team. The minute he thinks you're a target, you're on the line. You're the one getting operated against by a man who doesn't report to anyone, who's not accountable." Jim frowned, the long lines of age creasing in his forehead. "Don't get me wrong, if push came to shove, of course I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Things are just never going to be perfect between me and him. It's just the nature of our positions."

"I get it."

"Like I said, though, I don't know whether I would have held back or night. When Joker shot you, Batman was there, in time, to keep me from doing something I would have regret for the rest of my life. Afterward, he'd visit you in the hospital. Never by the front door, obviously, but he'd arrive, sometimes, just minutes before I'd get there. Sometimes he'd just want to talk, make sure I was handling things okay. Other times he'd arrive and just stay quiet, really, watching you. He wasn't just about your injury, either. He did ask about your mother, a lot, especially when things looked like they were going to go sour between me and her. To be honest, I thought it was the last straw, the one thing that would finally convince her she couldn't be married to a cop anymore. I'm just glad I was wrong."

"Well, even if things were worse back then, I'm still worried about you two. After you get done with this operation, would you, please, just take a little vacation? I know she'd appreciate. You need to get out of this city and all its insanity for a while, and I don't mean to New Gotham. Go overseas, go to an ocean resort, or something. You've built up a good force here in Gotham. They'll hold the fort down while you and mom take a break from it all."

"Yeah, you're right Barbara, and it has been too long. Your mom deserves a vacation from it all." He sighed, eyes moving to the window. "Anyway, I've got something I need to take care of before I get my night started. Mind calling it early?"

"No, of course not. I haven't been getting enough sleep anyway. I could use an early turn in."

"Sounds great, Barb. I'll call you tomorrow." She winked, giving him a final, soft squeeze on the arm as she backpedaled away, toward the door.

"Be safe dad."

Batman turned at the sound of the rooftop access of Gotham Police Department opening up, the aging but still fit figure of Jim Gordon emerging into the night, a large spotlight burning just off to the side of the building. Its center was obscured by an angular figure, creating an image of a bat in the light as it burned through the sky and onto the clouds above. It had been Bruce's idea, an effective way to catch his attention from almost anywhere in the city, but he still found it somewhat clumsy and almost hokey.

Jim pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose, his spare hand tucked into his coat pocket as he did. "Glad to see you came."

"I didn't give you the signal just so I'd go ignoring it."

"You do, sometimes."

"When I have to. There are times I have to take care of things too large for me to split time from."

"No, I get it. I'm just glad you show up at all." He shrugged as he walked up beside the imposing figure, the hero's muscular body clad in all black. "New suit? Looks like you've got some additional tech going on there."

Batman nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Recent events made me rethink the design. I'm still not entirely sold, but I'll give it some time before I make a final decision."

"Any nifty new gadgets you'd like to let me in on?"

"Self propelled gliding mechanism. It allows me to travel huge distances at a time without the use of a vehicle." His face turned away. "Although we don't normally meet just to talk about what I'm wearing or why."

Jim nodded, glancing down, over the edge of the GCPD to the streets far below. "I've been doing some thinking recently."

"About?"

"You know, we've been working together almost a decade now. When you first arrived on the scene, to be honest, I didn't trust you."

"If it's any consolation, considering the condition and quality of the police in your department at the time, I wasn't sure I could trust you, either."

"Times sure have changed, haven't they?" Jim huffed. "Then again, not really. I'm not sure whether things are getting better or worse in Gotham. When you and I came together for our first big case, we took down Falcone and his Roman Empire. At the time I thought it was the start of a new era for Gotham. Now?" He swung his hand outward, passing it over the city. "Joker. Riddler. Hush. Black Mask. Great White. Two Face. Penguin. More criminals than ever and, to make it worse, none of them remotely have the same sort of code that Falcone had. Maybe a few, but you could take a stack of their profiles and figure each one of them to be criminally insane murderers. Whatever Falcone was, he wasn't that."

"I wouldn't look back on the Falcone era with too many fond memories, Jim. You may not remember it, but I still remember the ordered assassinations, the hitmen, the stolen merchandise, not to mention the counterfeiting, tax evasion, and any other number of less violent crimes. Just because Falcone didn't wear a mask didn't mean he wasn't just as ruthless as anyone we have in Gotham today."

"Oh, I remember, Batman," Jim said, eyes drifting into the sea of lights that sprang up throughout nighttime Gotham. "It was me, you, and Harvey at the time. Remember? You did what Harvey and I couldn't, restrained by the law, scaring Roman into the mistakes he made. That gave me the openings I needed to get the evidence and assemble a case against him. And Harvey? Hell, we all remember how brave Harvey was, willing to prosecute when everyone else was terrified of Falcone and how he would respond." He scoffed, eyes falling. "Of course, that's how we lost him, isn't it? One minute he's Gotham's white knight, the one man willing to stand in the public eye and take down Falcone's men in court. The next… Sal Maroni is…"

Batman held up a hand. "We all know what happened to Two-Face, Jim. There's not one of us that was involved in that case that doesn't regret it."

"That's the thing, Batman. Of all of us, Harvey was the one that was willing to stand publicly and fight for this city. Neither you or I ever did that, but it was Harvey that took the brunt of the punishment. It's not right what happened to him, and if I'm honest with myself, there's not a day that goes by that I don't wish it had been me instead."

"If I could take his place I would, but there's nothing regret will solve. He is who he is, now." The bat's arms folded across his chest, those elongated blades in his gauntlets jutting outward. "The one regret I do have is that we were never sure whether we'd finished the job. That's the biggest stain on Harvey's legacy that I can imagine."

"Yeah, you're right. Even with Falcone out of the picture, parts of his family continued. They might be small in comparison to what they once were, but they're still there, operating the family name out on the waterfront, moving goods through the city using their transportation systems. Seems funny that the only thing keeping me from going after them is my concern about the criminals I think are worse, otherwise, I'd be here trying to build another case. We're not in the era of mafia control though anymore. Things are scattered between all these would-be crime lords, and the one goal of this task force I've assembled is to take them down."

"I'm with you. You know that."

"I know, but you and I don't exactly see eye to eye on tactics." He turned aside slightly, looking at the costumed figure. "Still, I appreciate it."

"Why are you bringing all this up? You didn't call me here just to reminisce."

A smile passed along Gordon's features as his face ticked back toward the city, this time as he looked away from New Gotham and toward the far east end of the old city. "If I know what's going down on the waterfront, then you know, too. There are a lot of big names trying to take control of the shipping channels. The man who owns the warehouses and shipping in Gotham is going to own a lot of money."

Batman nodded. "I'm sure you've keyed onto the same names I have."

"Biggest investors in Gotham's underworld. Penguing. Great White. Black Mask. Each hoping to form the next criminal empire. I've already got men working on building a case against them. Black Mask is an easy shut away in the crime system. Penguin and Great White? We just don't have the evidence on them we need. It's going to take something concrete to put them away."

"I'll be taking a look into the situation tonight. Just like always, we need to do this by the routine. I put the pressure that makes them slip up. You get the evidence we need to put them away. It doesn't matter if I bring them in, without a case, we're getting nothing done."

"I'm already on it."

Batman hesitated a moment, the two men standing side by side, staring out into the evening, before the caped crusader spoke again. "Have you heard that Lew Moxon is back in town?"

Jim's face turned quickly, eyebrows arching upward, a slightly shocked look decorating his face. "Come again? I haven't heard anything out of him in years."

"He was in prison. Got out some time ago, apparently. Kept low until now."

"Let me guess. He's been poking his nose around the waterfront?"

"Exactly. Like I said, everyone's gunning for it."

Jim breathed in, both hands drawing his coat close. "That's another old Falcone contact to worry about."

"He's dead, Jim."

"You say that. I say that. Then we talk about him as if he's still around. Why is that?"

Batman didn't turn, his eyes continuing to focus on the distant night sky. "Because the body was never found. We know what Two-Face says he did, shooting him between the eyes. We were just never able to come up with the body to prove it. Considering elements of his empire have kept on, and now with Moxon's return, it just makes the situation that much hazier."

"True assessment. Do you think he's dead?"

"Dead men don't come back from the grave."

"Is that what you say about Ra's al Ghul?"

Batman's head lowered slightly. "That's… different."

"How?"

He turned just enough to glance at Gordon. "Ra's is an international terrorist skilled in deception and illusion. Simply because he claims or appears to have returned from the dead, doesn't mean he has. He's mastered the art of faking his own death. Roman Falcone, on the other hand, was something entirely different. A ruthless career criminal, a mafia don, all of those things. A skilled illusionist that had perfected the art of faking his own demise, Falcone wasn't. Besides that, Two-Face is many things, but he's not a liar. His view of the world is too black and white for that."

Gordon nodded, though he didn't look anymore relieved. "If you say so. Just promise me that, when all this is done, we take down those members of his family still operating. It's only right that we do it for Harvey."

"I can agree to that." He looked back outward, arms sweeping wide as he stepped toward the edge of the tall rooftop, glancing over just his shoulder momentarily. "I'll let you know what I find out." With that, he took a step forward, his body plummeting off the edge before his cape caught the breeze and buoyed him on its currents, his dark figure sailing off into the glittering streets below, flooded with cars as they made their way down the arteries of the city. Jim followed the figure for a moment before turning away, returning to the Batsignal.

"Rare day he decides to say goodbye like a normal person."

* * *

"Delina Fiora," Marco Vega said as he stepped upward, holding a hand out that she gracefully accepted.

"Marco. A pleasure finally meeting you," she said in reply, nodding slightly toward him as he bent over, landing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Although from the day I hear about the sort of business expansion you were planning for Gotham I knew that we would meet. After all, our worlds do intersect."

"Of course, it is natural," he said as he gestured to their table. The two of them walked alongside the fountain that decorated the center of the plaza, a host of couples enjoying exquisite dinners prepared by some of the finest chefs in the world. They seated themselves, bottles of wine already iced and waiting for them. "Although I must say it took longer than I imagined."

"I wanted to see if you had the steel it took to make it in a city like Gotham, Mr. Vega. While I love the Spanish country, there's no place in all of it that is quite like Gotham. We breed a very unique brand of criminal here, and regardless of a man's character, you are tested when you try to operate in this city."

"That's something I've become acquainted with over the last year," he said, nodding, his hand moving to an open bottle to pour himself a glass. "I never knew you had such a comical cast of individuals trying to portray themselves as the next big thing. I mean, you have one man running around in a moth suit with a flamethrower, calling himself the Firebug of all things."

"Have you not heard? We also have on that goes by the name of the Ratcatcher. Much like the Pied Piper, he claims to be able to communicated with rodents." She continued to smile as she glared at him from across the table, but it did not seem remotely pleasant. "Then again, we have men like the Joker, who has been responsible for countless deaths and that was involved in a massive plot in Metropolis only a few weeks back. I'm sure you read the stories."

He shook his head, looking unaware. "I'm sorry. I know of the man you talk about, but I've read nothing about this incident."

"The Thanksgiving Eve parade coordinated between Star City, Gotham and Metropolis. Joker tried to poison the attendees and came damn close to starting a mass riot in all three cities. In between those gags, he managed to beat the daylight out of Superman. Not an easy feat." She slowly drew a glass to her lips, draining its contents in a long, single drink before setting the glass aside. "It's easy to ridicule some of these criminals, Vega, until you have one like that madman threatening your business."

His smile faded slightly as he listened, realizing she was not making mere small talk. "Are you saying you've had run ins with these people?"

"More than run ins, Marco." The edge of her lip creased upward just slightly. "You know, you're running the most dangerous game in town at the moment. You're the one trying to put Gotham's shipping industry in a lock. Do you know who previously dominated that industry?"

"No, I couldn't tell you."

"Carmine, The Roman, Falcone. A mafia don with such incredible power that he evaded arrest and prosecution for decades. The man responsible for having acid tossed into then attorney Harvey Dent, when Dent was gunning for the Falcone criminal empire. I assume if you don't know about that, you don't know what Dent became."

"I couldn't tell you, dear Delina. Although I fear you're about to tell me."

"Good boy," she said, hear eyes dropping to the table for only a moment before shooting back up to meet his. "He became the man known as Two-Face. Wealthy, ruthless, a murderer who can kill without conscience. He decides whether to murder or not at the flip of a coin, and has caused countless deaths in Gotham."

"And this would be someone I should worry about?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

He leaned in, putting his glass aside. "Is he involved with any of the business out there?"

"Oh, far worse than he, Marco. You're dealing with the Black Mask, a man who once bordered on reuniting the territories of Falcone's crime land. He was stopped by the Batman, but don't think he's not eager to do it again. You're buying up all the territory that would otherwise go to making him extremely rich."

Mr. Vega leaned back, eyes shifting aside to the water fountain for a moment before turning back to her. "I won't be intimidated into giving up my business. I have dealt with gangsters before, and am willing to do so again. They understand money, and power. If it comes down to it, I can offer either. What I will not do is back away from my business."

"I would never ask that. All I'm saying is to tread carefully, and know the road in front of you before you take a step. Know who you'll be upsetting. I've had my own dealings with these madmen, and it is never pleasant, nor simple."

"This conversation quickly turned a direction I never intended it to go."

"Well, if we are to be in business together, I thought it might be best to advise you of the risks inherent to Gotham."

He nodded, a slight smile returning to him. "At least you seem receptive to it. Considering how much of the waterfront that is already mine, not to mention the boats I used to ship all over the world, I could use your access to ground transports here in the United States. I would be able to bring products into the country and you could ship them throughout the city, and the country. It seems like a fairly logical partnership."

"It is, and I am willing. The one thing I will insist going forward, however, is increased security. Trying to legitimize business in a city built on the illegitimate is a dangerous venture."

"It's funny you mention that," he said with a wink, lazily pointing a finger at her. "Though I have not researched some of these costumed freaks you've talked about, I've already, at length, researched my security options. I've actually got quite the defense team assembled for my protection. If you wanted, I'd be more than willing to provide you connections to my associates."

Again, Fiora smiled, but it was lifeless. "Let us hope, Mr. Vega, that your associates know what they're getting into. Because there are few among mortal men that are equipped to deal with the worst that prowl the streets of Gotham."


	9. Chapter 8: Chaos Erupts

**Chapter 8**

_"Profile Log. The League of Assasins._

_In my limited interaction with the man known as Ra's al Ghul, whose name translates to the Demon's Head, I have come to know him as one of my most formidable arch enemies, a man who will stop at nothing to accomplish his goal of wiping most of humanity from this earth. To this end, he employs a global organization that influences politicians, bankers, businessmen, and anyone of power. When he cannot accomplish his goals through subtle manipulation, however, he falls on the league to enforce his will. The League of Assasins has produced some of the worlds greatest fighters, men and women that I have found to be among my greatest opponents in single combat. David Cain, once known as the world's greatest assassin and a man that still sits within the league's highest echelons, at one time trained me in some of the skills I use today, the one difference being that Cain is willing to kill. That is the line separating him from me. Other members include Lady Shiva, one of the world's greatest martial artists, a master of the deadliest forms of hand to hand combat and endowed with an almost unbeatable will to win; Merlyn, an archer so skilled that even Green Arrow is unsure of whether he could be beaten in a straight out fight; Ebeneezer Darrk, a man with an infinite knowledge of poisons, traps, and an almost otherworldly ability to develop elaborate plans and traps. This does not even begin to include Ra's family, his father the Sensei, a man who has an unsurpassed knowledge of martial arts, or his daughter Talia, an expert marksman, swordsman, and hand to hand fighter. This does not begin to include the legions of unnamed members who swear upon their lives to defend the league. For this reason, I rank it among my greatest threats, one that must eventually be disposed of."_

_-Batman_

"I see you," the voice said calmly from the dark, though to nobody in particular, the speaker's eyes looking around the grounds of the large home. He'd easily leapt over its external gate and onto its grounds, the incompetent police officers standing guard outside completely unaware of his presence. The soft grass that met his feet muffled the noise of his landing and allowed him easy passage, his massive, muscular frame moving with unusual grace through trees and bushes that dotted the grounds. He'd come to the end of the foliage, the mansion doors just ahead, an elaborate water fountain providing the area with a soft sound of water trickling into the basin beneath. "Pleasant," he said quietly as he braced himself to emerge from hiding. In the distance he could see several men, obviously personal guards, sleek, white rifles gripped within their hands. "LX-100s," he said to himself, a hand slipping to his waist and withdrawing a small device.

Without any need for hiding himself anymore he emerged from the cover of the trees, exposing himself to the dim moonlight that cut out from between the clouds that rolled by in the skies overhead. Almost immediately he was sighted, four or five men rushing in his direction, shouting for him to raise his hands above his head. He did so, simultaneously releasing the device he'd retrieved moments before, the small, globe like device spinning through the skies overhead. Their eyes trailed it for a moment before it ignited with a blue flare that surged over them, each man backpedaling a moment before raising their rifles at the intruder, their fingers squeezing at the triggers. No gunfire emerged, each man looking at their weapons, baffled, as the imposing figure walked quietly toward them. They launched themselves forward, gloved hands reaching toward the man, who calmly grabbed the first of the attackers by the wrist and casually launched him to the ground. He followed this with a quick uppercut into the next man's diaphragm, the poor soul collapsing as he found himself unable to breathe, before the attacker propelled his leg backward, his large boot crushing into the area just below another guard's right rib cage. The man gagged as he fell, clutching at his side.

"That would be your liver," the intruder said calmly, walking forward to the next pair. "I'd suggest you stay down." The next two men launched themselves at him, but he easily span away from both, turning and grabbing one from behind and locking his biceps beneath the man's neck. Within a few seconds the blood had stopped flowing to the man's brain, and the guard fell to the pavement around the fountain, leaving the man face to face with a single, last guard. For a moment the two stared at one another in the pale moonlight, a long moment drawing out between them before the guard began to sprint away. The attacker shook his head, launching himself forward with an almost inhuman speed, crossing the distance between the two of them within moments. His body launched forward, catching the man from behind, the two of them sprawling in the grass just long enough for the intruder to repeat the blood lock, choking the man out from around the neck. With the final guard incapacitated he quickly sprang to his feet, moving toward the door and letting himself in. The man that lived here had apparently felt confident enough in his guards to leave the front door unlocked, not that locking it would have made a difference.

The interior was elegant enough, with a single staircase leading upward to the second floor, while two hallways extended out from either side. Still, he knew the layout of the building, had gotten the designs before he'd even though about coming out here, and without hesitation made his way up the stairs. Ears, ultra sensitive to sound, an advantage he had over countless others, keenly attuned to any noise that might emerge from the surrounding area. Still, there was nothing, and soon enough he was making his way down an upstairs hallway. As he did, his eyes glanced at various portraits that decorated the walls of the house, admiring them even in the middle of his quest.

"Man's got good taste," he said with a smile, his mask hiding his features. One thing he'd learned to do over the years was to appreciate the small elements of a night that made them worthwhile. Considering how quickly he'd dispatched the outside guards, that meant being able to enjoy the art show that his target had put on in the hallways. He was particularly fond of the sort of impressionist paintings that decorated most of the house's interior.

As he drew near to the doorway he hesitated, ears picking up on just a slight enough noise to make him halt. His hand had already stretched forward, fingers grasping for the door handle, when he caught the sound. Quickly he leapt backward, just in time to avoid a large, hulking figure that burst into the mansion hallway. A final line of defense it seemed, this new player stood a towering seven feet tall, face shrouded behind a mask that revealed only his eyes, hand and feet tucked into leather garments. Massive shoulder guards hooked around his frame attached by a chain, while an assortment of weapons such as batons and tonfus sat attached to his belt.

The intruder had leaped backward in time to avoid the charging man as he'd burst through the door, but now took a moment to assess him, looking the black clad figure up and down. "Lyle Bolton, right?" he asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "Otherwise known as Lock-Up. Depending on who you talk to, either a washed up Blackgate corrections officer or an overzealous Arkham Asylum guard. Either way, you couldn't make it on the force. I do hear you're decent with a punch and you've got a nasty way with those batons you're carrying around."

"And you're just another petty criminal that needs to be reminded of his place," Lock-Up replied, growling from behind his mask. "I'm going to put you away for a long time."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you his," the intruder replied, voice calm, and somewhat bored, "But I'm neither petty nor am I in your league. I hate to tell you this kid, but you're in way over your head."

Lock-Up roared as he leaped forward, hands grabbing at his tonfus and swinging them in wide arcs at his opponent, always seconds too slow as the invader shifted his feet, sliding backward and away from the strikes, head angling off just in time to avoid a hit. Lock-Up thrust his massive frame forward, trying to ram his opponent, but the stranger ducked and span behind him, hand moving with lightning quickness to the belt Lock-Up wore. Before the former guard could grasp what had happened, his sight lit up for a split second as pain seared through the back of his skull, his body shuffling forward on wobbling legs as he struggled to turn around. There was the intruder, taking confident steps, crossing the distance, a baton in his hand.

"You stole my weapon!"

The intruder held the baton up, shrugging. "I think it belongs to whoever has it."

Lock-Up lashed out, swinging the lengthy pieces of wood weapons in his hand in an upward arc, striking for the figure again. The intruder leapt backward in an arc, a free hand planting on the ground and propelling his frame back into the shadows, legs tensing for all of a moment before he leaped forward again, the baton swinging out from his side. It connected squarely with Lock-Up's jaw, the huge man's body rising up and flying backward as the masked intruder leapt onto the ground, driving the baton beneath Lock-Up's jaw.

"Word of advice kid," the stranger growled as he pinned the baton on the man's neck, forcing an air choke that took longer and that was far more painful than a quicker blood choke he could have gone for, "Don't take a job if you can't fulfill your end of the contract. In my opinion you're not much better at this than any muscle guys like Penguin or the Joker can higher off the street for a dime."

Lock-Up could not even summon the intensity to be angry as his vision began to blacken at the edges, his arms swinging upward, the tonfus in his hands weakly striking against the man's shoulders before his strength began to ebb, his arms collapsing onto the ground at his side as he finally fell unconscious. The masked invader reared back up, tossing the baton onto the ground before spinning toward the door, his footsteps carrying him to his goal. As he did, he caught sight of a trembling man within, shotgun drawn upward. The invader quickly withdrew as a blast erupted from the weapon, shearing off the edges of the doorframe and carrying splinters into the hall.

"Now why did you have to go and draw attention?" the masked stranger demanded, quickly turning into the room and unleashing a small, almost invisible projectile that whipped through the air and caught the rifle underneath its barrel. The weapon swung upward just long enough for the man to cross the distance ripping the weapon from the man's hand and tossing it aside, letting it spin along the ground. The invader grabbed at the man's collar, nearly yanking him off the floor as he did so.

"Mr. Vega," the man's tensing voice uttered in the near pitch darkness, "I'd suggest you come along quietly. I did a lot of work trying to get in here without catching the attention of the police outside the gate, and you might have just ruined all that effort. So, I'd suggest you make the next few minutes of your life, and mine, an easy walk out of here."

* * *

The voice of Oracle spoke into her ear. _"You know he needs you."_

"Does he?" The woman known as Nightwing shook her head, staring off into the distance from her perch high above Gotham. "You know, once upon a time, me and Bruce would do this together. Sit here, watching the city, protecting it. Back when he first recruited me, he wasn't so aloof. It actually felt like he might appreciate my company a bit. Now?" She huffed, eyes scanning across the vast lights of the skyscrapers beyond. "Now he can't even pick up the phone for me."

_"You know how he is. He just doesn't get along well with others."_

"Easy enough to say, you weren't his partner for the first half of his career. The worst part about it is that he basically fired me after I spent a whole night trying to prevent a riot in downtown Gotham. Yeah, I get it. Him and Superman did the heavy lifting of taking out the Joker and Lex Luthor. Without me, though? Without Catwoman, and Zatanna? If it hadn't been for the rest of us out there, this city would have torn itself apart. So what speech do I get when I return to the Batcave? 'Oh, thanks for all the help Natalie, but you've finally grown strong enough to be on your own. We can do more good working independently in different parts of the city anyway.' Yeah, thanks Bruce. Great friend, great employer."

_"We both know how he is. The truth is that Bruce can only get so close to someone before his guard goes up, but even then, I think he wanted distance from you because he was afraid of ever seeing you get hurt. He appreciates the help, but he worries that you'll get hurt in the role of Nightwing."_

"Yeah well, I was doing fine on my own before he stuck his noise in my life."

_"Were you, Natalie?"_

Her nose wrinkled up beneath the mask she worse to cover her eyes and mask some of her features. "I mean, obviously I appreciate the additional training. I wouldn't have learned half of what I know if not for Bruce, but he can't think that cutting me off was the right thing, can he? I was patrolling these streets before I met him, and I'm still doing it, now that he's decided to move on. He's got every chance of hurting himself that I have."

_"I know, Nat. You're out of sight, out of mind. If he lost you on patrol, it would kill him. I promise you. I know this."_

She huffed, the bottom of her bangs flying upward as she did. "Fine, Barbara. What is it you need from me that Bruce doesn't want to ask?"

_"Nothing too big. I know you've got your own thing going here in Gotham and you can't just drop everything for us, but we've got a really big case going on right now, and I'm not sure we can tackle this on our own. I'm talking about Penguing, Black Mask and Great White on the verge of an all out war. We've got members of the old Roman Empire trying to move in on the same space, too. Not to mention the problems guys like Vega and his company are causing by squeezing in on business that's been illegal for a long time. If things go south, I just want to know you're onboard to help. There are a lot of faces involved in this case."_

"Sounds like it." She sighed as she leaned forward in her crouched position, arms resting forward on her knees, legs precariously balanced on the gargoyle beneath her. "You know you don't even need to ask. If things get out of hand, or if you need someone to back you up, I'm here. I'm always here. Bruce is one of my best friends."

_"I knew we could rely on you."_

"Maybe. The question is whether Bruce does."

* * *

The large ballroom was bathed in blue light, a soft mist rolling along the ground, generated by the small machines that lined the area. It created an arctic effect, the soft sounds of the ocean being played from overhead speakers. Above, on the second level, private booths overlooked the dance floor, around which were many tables that bathed in the ambience. Sitting alone, at a private table in the center, a round, jovial looking individual munched away at a platter of recently cooked fish. His top hat rose absurdly into the air, his small bowtie centering his outfit, a dashing button up shirt partly covered by a long tailed, black coat. His monocle balanced on his right eye, catching glimpses of light as his face glanced back and forth between the plates gathered at his table.

A noise in the upper balcony caught his attention, his face shooting upward to the sound of it, eyes catching a glimpse of an ominous figure standing in an upper booth. His chewing slowed, his smile fading into a stretched frown, head dropping slightly. "Well are you going to stand there all day or are you going to get down to business, Batman?"

The bat took a step onto the edge of the booth's railing and propelled himself forward, arms outstretching, his cape acting to brace his descent as he came to a landing on the ground floor. Without a word he walked up toward the table, his black figure standing out against the blue environment he was surrounded by. The round figure allowed a smile again, glancing up at the guest. "Real dramatic of you. Of course you were always good at that."

"I need answers, Penguin," he said, voice stern and intense, but the wealthy fellow at the table seemed to not care.

"Really Bats do we have to keep going through this time and time again?" He shook his head, motioning to the other end of the table. "Once in a while you'd do yourself a favor by letting up off the terminator act and just enjoying your life. Loosen up. I have, and look at all the good it's done me. I'm healthier than ever, my business is booming, and I've got great future prospects. Hell, I've even lost a little weight."

"I'm in no mood for jokes."

"And I'm in no mood to have my dinner interrupted, so why don't you just tell me what you want, eh? I mean really, I got over being scared of you a few years ago. Yeah, that whole ninja act of yours used to really work me up, but you and I are like a bad couple. There's no more spontaneity to keep things exciting." He set his fork down, leaning back in the chair at the tall, masked figure. "So, you want information. No surprise there really, and you might as well get on with it so I can get back to enjoying my club. Not every day I get to have it to myself."

Batman glared from behind his mask, shaking his head. "I need to know what's happening on the waterfront. I know for a fact that Great White's expanding out there, and Black Mask isn't going to take that lightly. Rumor is that you're involved too. Not all of you can own the business out there, and I'm guessing you're not willing to share, so something's going to go down sooner or later. I need to know what the game is."

"The game is business, Batman," Penguin replied, his white gloved hands fetching a cigar from his pocket that he laid on the table. "In case you haven't heard, the economy's in recovery. Maybe not a great one, but if you're in the right business you stand to make a lot of money. Gotham is suddenly becoming real important in the shipping business again, so everyone with the money to invest is trying to carve himself up a piece of the pie."

"So it's coincidence that you're all just buying it up at the same time? I don't think so. How did you find out Great White was making moves? He's been doing it behind a number of other business names to keep his involvement low key. Who filled you in on the details?"

"Call it a hot tip, Batman, from a concerned citizen." He flashed a disgusting, toothy smile, arm resting along the top of his chair. "Oh hell, I suppose it doesn't matter. I got word from that one guy that makes a living selling off real estate to guys like Riddler and Mad Hatter. What's his name?" He glanced away a moment, eyes staring into nothingness as he tried to remember, before finally looking back up, fingers snapping in the air. "That's right! The Broker. Told me if I didn't make a move, Great White was going to get off with all the best property that was left. Couldn't have that, so I made a counteroffer, and now here we are. It's three guns pointed at one another waiting for the other one to fire."

"That's not usually Broker's M.O. He's all about taking advantage of a situation, but he's not the sort to try and play people off one another like this."

"I agree. Thought it was…" He smiled, winking, "Fishy."

"But you still went in on it?"

"Do you think I stay wealthy by sitting on the sidelines? All good businessmen have to stay ahead of the curve. It's either make a move, or watch as these new faces chip away at my fortune."

"One more thing then, Penguin. I know you. You've made it clear you enjoy making a profit, and that you do your best business legally. I won't argue that," he said, gesturing around the club. "Just look at this place. We both know you're still working as a go between for other criminals, though, and I haven't taken my eye off you."

"I'm eminently aware of that fact, Batman. So what's this lead to?"

"If push comes to shove, are you going to start a war over the waterfront?"

Penguin's lip jutted out, his face immediately shaking no. "I don't work that way anymore. You know that. Now, will I make sure my boys hold down my territory?" He grinned, hand slamming down onto the table. "I'm still the Penguin, Bats. I've been doing this longer than almost anyone else in Gotham, unless you've forgotten that I go back to the days when Falcone was running his empire. So now, I'm not going to start ordering my men to take down Black Mask or Great White, but bloody hell be sure that if any one of them crosses me, I'm going to defend what's mine."

"Understood." He began to back away, moving toward the exit, before he paused a moment, glancing back at his old foe. "One last question."

"Yeah, yeah. Get on with it."

"Have you heard the story that Lew Moxon has been sighted doing business in the east stretch of Old Gotham?"

Though Batman was only partly turned, he could see the sudden break in Penguin's cool features, the sudden rush of blood and the mild shake in his fingers. "Moxon you say?" he replied, glancing down at the table. "Been a while since that one."

"Just letting you know, considering he goes back to the Roman Empire too, and his connections were just as deep as yours. Deeper, if I recall, since he ran most of the area you claim now." A slight smile crossed his face. "Hope you sleep well on that, Penguin."

The bird like man was already out of his seat, walking away from the table, before Batman had finished exiting the building.

* * *

Catwoman's eyes searched the skyline of Gotham, the cold night air passing over her skin, which tingled at the sensation. Her eyes closed as she soaked it all in, the early part of her night having already been spent coughing up new clues on her investigation. She'd avoided Bruce the past day, preferring to go back to her independent ways, living on the streets as a lone adventurer. She needed times like this, times to be alone to her thought and do what she was best at.

"Guess I need to call him sometime, though," she said, her hand slipping to her side, wrapping around a small device. It was the one thing he'd ever given her, a private communications device that gave her quick access to him, something she refused to use on principle. The device was both a sign of trust, perhaps, but also a way to keep her at arms length. Why meet in person when they could do all their purpose over the phone, after all? "I'm not going to be grateful just because he gave me something," she said with a shake of her head, residue of their previous conflict still lingering in her mind. Still, sitting there, she knew the case was too important to simply stand by and do nothing. She began to activate it, sliding it open.

In later days, she'd never be able to tell what hit her first, the sound, the light, or the impact of the blast. Nobody would that survived that night. What was clear was the sudden illumination of the night sky, as it quickly switched from inky blackness to an intense red, like blood soaking the heavens as a thundering roar swept across the city. The ground beneath her trembled as the force of the blast crept outward, swinging across building after building, windows shattering as deafening sound filled her ears. Without an ability to fight back or brace herself, her body was carried along the rooftop, sliding toward its edge as she was carried along by the force, debris flying outward through the skies.

Her face shot toward the east, into the deafening light, her hands clawing for something to hold onto as she was carried to the edge of the building, her fingers finally wrapping around a pipe jutting from the rooftop. She heaved, feeling as if the wind had been sucked out of her lungs, her vision only slowly adjusting to the massive cloud of smoke and ash that rose up above the waterfront. For a moment she clung to consciousness, struggling against the edge of darkness that crept into her vision, but unable to move as she lay face flat on the rooftop. Just a short distance away, the small device in hand rang out with sound, shouting coming from the other end.

_"Selina? What's wrong. Selina!"_


	10. Chapter 9: It All Explodes

**Chapter 9**

_"I get that a lot of the young guns don't know who he is, because he's been in the pen for so long that he doesn't have the name brand recognition of the Joker or Two-Face, but let's get one thing straight. Back in the day, when there was only one name, Carmine Falcone, there were a lot of lesser names, men you shouldn't cross. I had the bad fortune to be raised up on the waterfront. You see, Falcone was the godfather of Gotham, and wasn't nobody around that was going to cross him. Falcone didn't have problems with members of the family fighting among each other once in a while, though. Thought it was like Darwin said, survival of the fittest. So you'd have the small wars erupt between members of the lesser families in Gotham. If you hear one man tell you that Lew Moxon wasn't one of the most terrifying names on the street, then he's either a bald faced liar or a complete moron. On a list of the most infamous murders in Gotham, what are a few you would list. Did you say the death of the Wayne family? Yeah? Because guess what I was about ten years older than Brucey boy when it happened, and I still remember everything that broke out afterwards. For years, even if everyone knew the killer was Joe Chill, they also suspected the entire arrangement wasn't an accident. You have one of Gotham's wealthiest families attending the theatre, with some of Gotham's richest and famous elites, and somehow there's no security protection? You think the theatre just let them out the back door like it was nobody's business? Give me a break. Everyone from here to Metropolis knew that murder wasn't an accident, and even if it couldn't be proven, all fingers were pointing at Lew Moxon. Couldn't nobody do a damn thing about it though, not with Falcone protecting him. We never got the evidence and we could never figure out the motive, but there wasn't a person on the east stretch that didn't know the truth. Lew Moxon ordered the execution of Thomas and Martha Wayne, plus about fifty other people during the same year. Got to give it to him. Guy was ambitious. That's why he landed in the slammer."_

_-Harvey Bullock_

Phone lines were exploding all through Gotham Central Police Department, men and women dashing around as calls were routed and detectives flew about, trying to ascertain all the details of what had happened that night. The office was a mess, a perfect reflection of what was happening on the streets at that very moment, a perfect storm full of too much chaos and not enough details. James Gordon had quickly sealed himself into his office along with Lieutenants Harvey Bullock and Gerard Hennely, along with Captain Maggie Sawyer, a recent transfer from Metropolis.

"We've got a shitstorm happening out there and it's all happening at once!" Gordon exploded, slamming his fist to the desk and simultaneously snatching up a stack of reports. Two high profile kidnappings, one Marco Vega the other Delina Fiora, both wealthy shipping moguls. Meanwhile in Old Gotham," Gordon screamed, turning about and staring out his window, to the now dark skies that had only a half hour before burned red, "We've got an explosion out on the waterfront so big we're getting reports it leveled four damned city blocks. Some people thought we were being attacked with nukes by North Korea," he continued, spinning about to face his team. "I need you all out there, now, getting all this together."

His finger jabbed out at Hennely. "I know you work quick response but you've also got a nose for special types of criminals. The super criminal type, and we both know what I'm talking about. That's why you're taking up the Delina Fiora case. Stacy's already got a file for you outside including the location and time of reported kidnapping, but suffice to say, all this has happened within an hour of each incident. Fiora's a major player in trade and shipping services from here throughout the U.S. and Gotham stands to lose a substantial amount of legitimate business if she goes down. Get me answers, Hennely."

"Yes, sir," the sharply dressed blonde man said, sensing the tension as his heels clicked together.

"Maggie, you're taking up the opposite half of the coin at Marco Vega's mansion."

She frowned, taking a step forward. "Sir, with all due respect, I think an incident like the explosion demands my attention. I've worked the worst cases in Metropolis and have done a fine job here doing the same."

"Nobody's questioning that, captain," he tersely replied, voice firm and uncompromising. "That one's mine, though. Besides, like Hennelly, you've got a nose for sniffing out these super criminal types. I don't know for sure whether the kidnappings were related but if they were, we need answers, and we need them yesterday. More than that though," he said, slapping his chest, "That explosion is mine. Old Gotham, for better or worse, is my city, and I'll be damned if I let an incident like that get past me." His eyes went to Harvey, motioning toward the door. "You'll be getting our team together. This will be our first time on the ground operating as twelve men in tandem."

Harvey pushed himself off the while, where he'd spent the meeting leaning against a portrait of Gordon's family. "Do we know whether this case involves anybody? I'm not saying anything either way about it, but couldn't this just be accidental? A huge gas explosion or something."

"You're absolutely right, Harvey, it could be accidental," Jim said as his hand went to his chair, snatching the trench coat off its back. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's still my city. It also doesn't change the fact that this is Gotham we're talking about, not to mention the damned waterfront, the place we've had our eyes glued for a week now. If you think it's a legitimate accident then let's talk about getting you into a timeshare some day."

The lieutenant almost rolled his eyes, catching himself at the last second and turning his head aside. "Yeah, I hear you. I'm on it boss."

"Well then?" he demanded, waving his hand toward the door. "Let's go!" They marched as a group into the halls of the police department, alive with an electricity it rarely saw, people dashing back and forth, dodging around each other as they rushed to phones, desks, and prepared to depart. Jim picked up the manila envelope that Stacy, his secretary, only barely had time to hand off to him as he dashed by, Bullock struggling to keep up next to him.

"We got any word on this?" Harvey asked, huffing as his burly legs carried him along, almost in a slight jog. "Injuries, deaths?"

"Paramedics are already on the scene," Gordon replied without much emotion, eyes glued on the path ahead as he weaved between people coming the opposite way. "Hundreds reported injured. Fatalaties are hard to come by, considering the fact that people at the site of the explosion have all but been vaporized."

Harvey's eyes jumped. "Vaporized? Like science fiction?"

"Already a report of a man's shoes with only a portion of the foot, the rest of it cleanly burned away."

"Hot damn. And the source of the explosion?"

"Far as what's come in, it's a chemical plant and storage facility, does special development for the government and has the stuff shipped out from the coast. Whatever happened tonight, it seems likely it started there, and the resulting explosion was so large that we're likely to have injuries coming in clear until tomorrow."

"I see." Harvey huffed as they reached an intersection, Harvey angling away for a moment, Gordon preparing to continue. Bullock stopped quickly, gesturing back at James. "Hey, I'm going to get the team ready, but just one thing. Who owned the chemical plant?"

"Technically a man named Rupert Trendon. In reality? That's just an alias Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, used to purchase the place with." Gordon turned, continuing down the hall, leaving Bullock to assembled their officers. For a minute Harvey stood there, dumbfounded, his fingers lifting the brim of his hat just slightly. "Black Mask? Got damn."

* * *

Batman ran toward the edge of the building, leaping off as a jet roared by overhead, his arm raising just as it slowed. The grapple in his gauntlet fired off, that magnetic grip in the bottom of the vehicle yanking him upward as the aircraft hovered on engines that Wayne Tech had long refused to release to the government. Batman sailed upward, arching his body so that the rope swung him toward the edge of the vehicle, his hand grabbing at the edge of the wing and as the grapple detached, his other arm grabbing hold of the open cockpit so that he could pull himself inside. The overhead glass seal pressed forward, sealing him in, the jet's hoverpads kicking off and reverting to traditional jet propulsion. In a moment he was flying forward, moving far quicker than the grapple and glide system in his suit would have allowed, the on screen scanners almost immediately switching to tracking down the last known location of Catwoman's communicator. Soon they were arching toward the ancient buildings that arced toward the waterfront, the black skies above a stark contrast to what he'd seen just minutes before.

It was almost impossible to describe, and it couldn't have been a nuclear detonation, but the severity of the blast was so astounding that he still had little idea of what had happened. "Oracle, what's the word?"

_"Everything's a confused mess on the police channels Batman," _came back the voice, stressed and hurried. _"Think I've got a location for you though. Rupert Chemical Development and Storage out on the east stretch in Old Gotham. We've got reports of four city blocks completely leveled, hundreds injured, and probably the same in fatalities. Police are inbound." _She paused, quiet for a moment. _"Bruce. My dad is with them."_

"I know you're worried Barbara, but nobody is more capable of figuring that situation out and getting it under control than your father is. Besides, he's not going to be alone." His eyes glanced at the direction his on-glass monitor was guiding him, shaking his head. "I'm headed the same way. Moments before the explosion, Catwoman was trying to contact me on the personal comm device I gave her. Right after that it went silent, just at the same time I saw the explosion. Looks like she was almost right next to ground zero."

_"I'm sorry. I hope she's alright."_

He nodded, eyes closing slightly as his jaw tensed. "She will be. She hasn't run out of lives yet."

_"That a joke?"_

"Not at all. If anybody could have survived that, it's Selina."

The Batwing fired through the skies, quickly veering off toward one of the many rooftops now covered in a fine layer of grit and dirt, the underbelly of the vehicle flaring to life with a spotlight that illuminated the ground. As he did, he could spot motion sifting through the grime and dust, and quickly lowered the vehicle so that it was hovering just feet above the roof. He leapt from its side even as a ladder descended from the cockpit, but by the time it had lowered he was already sliding to the slowly moving body, a gray film falling from the figure as it raised up off the ground.

"Selina!" he called, draping an arm around her shoulder as he fell to a knee, eyes burning into the side of her face. "Are you okay?"

She nodded a few times, though she was coughing profusely, unable to form words as of yet. His hands dropped to a small pouch at his belt, withdrawing a miniature flask that he held in front of her. "Water," he explained as she took hold of it, bringing it to her lips and taking a drink, swishing the liquid around in her mouth for a moment before turning her head aside and spitting it out, the thick film plastering the ground. She tilted the flask back another time, taking a drink before handing it back, her coughing finally subsiding as she gasped for air. After a moment of shaking her head, the gray film drifting down from her mask, her eyes shielded by the goggles she kept in place over her eyes, she finally turned to him, forcing an exhausted smile.

"Nice way to pick up a girl. Wish we could take this thing around instead of the limo."

Bruce frowned, eyes shooting over into the distance. "What happened?"

"Hell if I know," she said, forcing herself upward, Bataman bracing her arm as she rose back onto her legs. "One minute I'm calling you… the next…" She pointed her chin in the direction of the waterfront, where black, acrid smoke still stained the skyline, darker than the night and blocking out the lights that usually decorated the buildings on the east stretch. "Guess an explosion but that was one hell of a detonation. Never felt anything like it."

"Reports are saying it leveled four city blocks, so I'm not surprised you were almost knocked out," he said, glancing her up and down. "The Batwing will take you back to the cave so Alfred can look you over, make sure you're okay."

She almost laughed, mouth smiling in disbelief as she turned to him. "Don't give me the overprotective dad routine. Not now."

His jaw shifted as he stared at her, fists clenching slightly. "Fine. What do you intend to do?"

"Uh, maybe help you?" she said, gesturing into the distance. "In case you didn't notice the world was going to hell. You know, I was calling you for a reason. I'd just spent the night doing some investigating of my own."

"Tell me."

"What a charmer. A day ago I had a run in with the Broker, over in Black Mask's place. Said he was doing accounting work for him, but I knew from the papers I found in Great White's that he'd negotiated the land buys for both Mask and White. He wouldn't come out and say it, because come on, he's not going to sell out his clients that way."

"I already know this. Broker's been negotiating between Black Mask, Great White, and Penguin, playing all of them against each other, most likely to get them into a conflict."

"Don't sell me so short Batman," she said, hands resting on her hips. "Woman's got her ways. Broker set me up with a place on this side of town a long time ago, for a pretty decent price, and he didn't do it out of the kindness of his heart. Not saying I slept with him or anything, but I did do a night out with the man. He's surprisingly wealthy, by the way." She winked, but Batman didn't seem amused. "Anyway, I found out about the Penguin thing, too, so I've been looking into all these deals. See, Broker just doesn't do accounting work for anyone, not even Black Mask, and there was one detail that was off about Broker when I saw him that night." She tapped just behind her ear. "See, unless you've been up close with the man, you'd never notice that he had a birth mark just back her, near to his hairline. I've been that close, I know what it looks like. This guy didn't have it."

Batman frowned, glancing aside and taking a step away, then back. "If it wasn't really the Broker, then who? Off the top of my head, Clayface, Jane Doe, not to mention Black Mask himself."

"I was in Sionis' office."

"So that makes Mask the primary suspect there."

"He let me get away, not that he could have kept me there, even with his goons following, so I've got to wonder why. Maybe he wants us chasing down Broker, going off on the wrong trail. Closest thing I can figure. Now, one thing worries me. He knew… details, about my business with the Broker. Things he shouldn't know, and Broker doesn't go around giving away information about clients, let alone his dates. I don't think Black Mask got that information out of him willingly."

"So somewhere out there we might have a tortured, or dead, Sherman Fine. Someone is trying to get us on his trail, when in reality Broker most likely has nothing to do with all this. This means we have a missing person that could have provided us with information on what Mask was planning. Unfortunately…" He gestured out toward the east stretch skyline, " I think we're finding out what that plan was."

"What do you mean?"

"That explosion came from a chemical plant owned by Rupert Trendon, an alias Black Mask uses for his public investments. Mask has been on a steady personnel buildup, and he's focused his men toward the edges of his territory. With the tension that's been mounting between him, White and Penguin, this gives him all the justification he needs to make a move."

"Since when does Black Mask need justification to go after territory?"

Batman frowned, crossing his arms as he stepped toward the edge of the building. "Since Lew Moxon and the old Roman Empire started making noise in Gotham again. When we first got Falcone behind bars, it came at the cost of Harvey Dent's sanity, creating the man we know as Two Face. Afterward, Carmine Falcone made several attempts to get his territory under control, but the old families weren't able to handle the influx of insane criminals like Two Face, Riddler, Joker, and the rest. This was years ago, when I was still fresh in my career. I wasn't able to keep Two Face from killing Falcone, and afterward, the Roman Empire became a shadow of its former self, just pockets of control is a city swimming with masked super criminals." He shifted back around, turning toward Selina. "Thing is, just because you bring down one man in one city, doesn't mean you bring down the family. Carmine came from an old mafia line dating back to Old Europe with more resources and money than most criminals in Gotham can imagine. I think those old elements have been pushing back."

She frowned, shaking her head. "I haven't heard anything about this. What makes you so sure?"

"Falcone was always the best at keeping his cards hidden until he was ready to get his plan underway, but he learned that technique from the family. It's not a method reserved to him alone. Earlier today, I had a chance to speak with the Penguin, and dropped Moxon's name." There was a slight smile as he recalled the event. "Penguin was too scared to really say much, but that's all I needed to know. The old family's making a hard push, and I don't think this fighting between Mask, White and Penguin amounts to anything more than what Falcone used to do. Let the families fight, let the best rise to the top, and all the while the mafia makes a profit from behind the curtains. Lew Moxon was one of Falcone's chief family heads, and one of their most ruthless. He might be the one bringing things back under their control. I don't think Penguin would have been that scared if these were ghosts we were talking about. The family's active again."

"Great. Now we've got even more people involved in this whole plot."

_"Batman?" _A voice interrupted his thoughts, breaking through over his earpiece. _"Batman, we've got two missing persons. Think you're going to what to know who they are."_

He turned aside, stepping away from Catwoman for a moment. "Oracle, it's me. What's going on?"

_"Report out of GCPD is that both Marco Vega and Delina Fiora have gone missing. You know both of them as the two biggest heads of shipping and transportation in Gotham City."_

"I'm aware. What do we know?"

_"Honestly? The break ins at both locations are so clean that you could have done them yourself. Witnesses report a masked fugitive single handedly dispatching five, six or seven men all by himself using advanced combat techniques. We're talking about a skilled fighter with an ability to infiltrate behind police lines without being seen. At Marco Vega's house, we've got word that he nearly killed the convict known as Lock-Up. Testimony says that Lock-Up was nearly killed by his own baton when the invader choked him out with it, after stealing it off his own belt."_

Bruce shook his head, looking first out to the waterfront, then back toward the wealthy edge of the island, toward the bridges that led to the glittering spires of New Gotham. "I've got three crime scenes and not enough time. My priority is investigating the explosion at the Rupert Chemical plant, but both Vega and Fiora were big names on the waterfront." He glanced over at Catwoman. "You said you wanted to help, didn't you?"

"I don't call it a night before two in the morning. I'm a party girl like that."

He nodded, turning his attention back to the earpiece. "Catwoman's going to investigate the Fiora crime scene. I'm going to touch down at the chemical storage and see what I can find, then head out to Vega's place as soon as possible."

_"I've got an alternative idea."_

"I'm listening."

_"I didn't mean to go behind your back, but…" _She paused, hesitating. _"I contacted Nightwing earlier today, and told her I thought this case might be getting a bit too big for one person to handle. She said she'd be willing to help, if you wanted it. Only thing is, she wants you to put in the call."_

His teeth grit, head snapping downward. "Barbara."

_"I know, Bruce, you didn't want her on any more cases, but she led that team in the Thanksgiving Eve riot. She's got what it takes, and you know that better than anyone. Don't let your pride get in the way."_

"Fine," he growled, hand dropping to his side. "I'll be in contact soon."

Catwoman stepped up beside him, looking slightly amused. "You look like you have a problem."

"Not a problem, just a personnel issue." He motioned out, toward New Gotham. "How fast can you get out to the Fiora mansion? You should know where it is, since it's out on the East End."

She shook her head. "I've had dinner with old Fiora a few times. Why? What's wrong?"

"She's gone missing, apparently at the exact same time as Marco Vega. Both of them have heavy investments in the trade and shipping industry here in Gotham, so I need quick information on this, since the police aren't just in the habit of turning over evidence."

"You've got it. I'll take the car." She glanced over the edge of the building, frowning. "If it survived. Who do you have tackling the Vega scene?"

"Nightwing."

"Really now?" she asked, seeming surprised. "I didn't even know you two were talking these days."

"We're not. That's my fault, but…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'll handle it."

"Yeah. I'm going to take a look and then get back here as soon as I can." She thrust a finger into his face, though it was playful enough. "Don't get into too much trouble without me, I'm tired of missing out on all the fun." With that she stepped away, taking a moment to look down the length of the building before taking a step off, falling away toward ground level. He didn't need to check to see if she'd survived. Selina was an acrobat, and could do amazing things even plummeting several stories to the ground.

His eyes turned toward the Batwing, his feet quickly taking him forward and leaping upward, into the cockpit, the glass dome sealing shut over his head as it almost immediately began to thunder upward, the hoverpads beneath the aircraft forcing it into the air. Soon the plane was blasting across Gotham, the scene below looking ever more like a battlefield. Heavier and thicker piles of dirt and grime were piled upward, pieces of buildings tossed across the streets while glass littered the concrete. Lights flickered in and out as power intermittently shut down, the street lamps fading to darkness for long stretches before light reappeared. Then, coming directly at him, was the rising fumes and black smoke seeping from the remains of had once been Rupert Chemicals. The scene was far worse than he could have imagined. The building itself, as well as many of those in the surrounding areas, were little more than piles of rubble. In scattered spots, the walls of some structures jutted out from the carnage, tall and unstable frames of what had once been buildings, huge swatches of metal shafts, steel beams and other unidentifiable debris formed massive pathways between these bare remains of the explosion. The damage was so widespread and the debris so high that emergency vehicles were unable to penetrate very deeply, and the rescue staff were forced to the edges for the meantime, pulling victims delicately from the wreckage while, far above, the Batwing hovered, its onboard sensors scanning the ground for any life.

"Put that call into Nightwing," he said quietly as he looked down on the sad display, the lives lost already counting up in his head. "This is going to take all my attention."

_"Alright Batman."_

He sighed, waiting as it went through. Whoever had done this had killed and injured hundreds. His ability to forgive was being tested.


	11. Chapter 10: Drawing Battle Lines

**Chapter 10**

_"Thinking back, I've always wondered what the difference was between men like the Joker, Riddler, Two-Face, and men like Lew Moxon, Joe Chill or Roman Falcone. Joker always stands out to everyone, after all, he murdered on a scale that few would imagine and in the fact of death, we look at numbers to determine 'how bad' a man was. Joseph Stalin once said that a single death is a tragedy, but a million deaths is a statistic. When you look at history, all the people Joker killed, it's hard to get a hold of just how that many deaths affected people. It's easier to look at a man like Joe Chill, and see how the murders he committed, killing Thomas and Martha Wayne, affected the growth of Bruce Wayne. Batman. So did Joe Chill actually have a larger impact than Joker ever did? Of course not. One death or thousands, lives are affected. We still don't know all the repercussions of what men like Falcone and Joker did, but we have to assume that just as many were changed in their own ways, just like Bruce's was. Sure, not everybody became the Batman. Some were inspired to go on an become police officers, though, or doctors, citizens that were trying to save their city. Even if he considered certain men to be greater threats to the city, I don't think Bruce ever thought of the Joker as any different from Moxon or Falcone. They were all men killing for their own reasons, and Bruce? He just wanted to put a stop to it. It didn't matter if that man hid behind a mask or a flashy name, wore an Italian suit or some garish clown costume. He just wanted to create the Gotham his parents had envisioned. End personal record."_

_-Barbara Gordon_

In the aftermath of the Vega kidnapping, the grounds around the Vega household had quickly become a lockdown nightmare for anyone trying to make their way inside. The press had arrived relatively quickly, given Vega's high profile status, flooding the front of the mansion gateway and mobbing the detectives on the scene. Lieutenant Hennely had handed the responsibility of dealing with the reporters to one of his subordinates, who'd struggled to answer questions and had, generally, proved to be useless to the press. Still, there was little for the members of the media to do but sit around, broadcasting, airing their reports, microphones held aloft as they asked questions while members of the television crew filmed from just a short distance away, their cameras panning back and forth across the stretch of police cars and the officers that manned the police tape, refusing entry to anyone trying to get onto the grounds.

Natalie Tejeda, Nightwing, had little time for the circus that was erupting. Through their years together, she'd always been the flashier of the Batman-Nightwing team, her love of theatrics and near playfulness often at odds with Bruce's stern, dark exterior. Still, it had been one of the reasons they'd worked so well as a pair, her antics often helping him to relieve some of the crustier edges his persona generated. At the same time, he'd always acted as a calming influence, one that always centered the team and reminded her to stick to the script, because the script was often salvation. Nothing too over the top, nothing too flashy. The fundamentals worked to save their lives, and her love of additional flare had to be restrained. He allowed it only so much. In the year that followed her departure, she'd had to retrain herself instead of Bruce always doing it, and she'd become better for it. Even now, as she moved across the grounds, darting between bushes and trees, her ears were carefully attuned for any sound, her eyes shooting back and forth as she took stock of the guards who circled the mansion. During a brief few seconds as the police officers rounded the corner, leaving an external wall of the mansion's east wing uncovered, she dashed across the poorly lit grass and toward the nearest window, leaping to its edge and forcing the windowsill upward. With only the slightest sign of effort she pushed herself inside, the rather large house absorbing what little noise she created as she closed the window behind her. It was impossible to tell how much time she had or every possible location the police might be, though early information fed to her by Oracle had at least let her know that the kidnapping had occurred on the second level, in the master bedroom of the east wing. Her feet took her across lush carpet to the nearest door, walls of art passing by as she emerged into the external hall. This building was nowhere near the size of Wayne Manor, but it was still impressive, and she kept close to the wall, finding nooks and recesses in doorways to dash into as she proceeded along. Quietly she found her way drawing further toward the main hall, soft voices emerging as she did, the clicks of cameras sounding off in the dark interior hall. Men were upstairs, that she was sure off, and, fully on guard, she rounded the stairwell onto the second floor, proceeding west. Her body pressed against the wall as she neared the west wing entry, eyes peering around the corner, down toward the far end. Past lines of nicely set vases set upon tables and large art portraits that decorated the walls, she could see a man in a trench coat in conversation with a nearby officer. Whatever they were discussing, the coated man seemed to be exasperated, his face tensing in his discussions before the lower officer turned about quickly, almost sprinting down the hallway. Nightwing quickly spun away, her light frame squeezing against the wall, a large grandfather clock the only thing obstructing any view of her as the officer zipped past and down the stairs. Immediately Nightwing returned to the hallway, creeping forward, feet softly moving her toward the detective whose face , though somewhat obscured with his back toward her, she was beginning to recognize.

"Lieutenant Hennely?" she asked, hands raising as the trenchcoated man turned about quickly, hand flying downward to his hip and gun visibly holstered at his side.

"Who the hell-?" he demanded, though he recognized the uniform.

"Nightwing. I know you're not a fan, but we have worked together before."

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding, straightening up, his hands moving away from his gun. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I'm guessing it's not hard considering I'm the second person to do that tonight."

"Seems like it." He sniffed, watching as Nightwing slowly lowered her arms. "Haven't seen you since you helped keep the Thanksgiving Eve riot under control, which to be honest, is the only reason I haven't arrested you yet."

"Fair enough. I'm coordinating with Batman on this case. He seems to think this might be linked to the waterfront explosion, and I agree, but since he can't be in three places at once..." She gestured across herself. "I'm here."

"Trying to do your citizens duty?" he remarked, somewhat insulting, his back turning to her once again. "It's a clean break in, that much we know. Marco didn't lock his front door, on account that nobody in this neighborhood usually does. This is New Gotham, after all, and every neighborhood in this part of town has security. Not to mention the police we had guarding the front gate, and all the personal security members he had working for him."

" So no evidence discovered here?"

"Honestly, not a damned thing. Just five men who were left unconscious outside and one that was unconscious up here. All of them severely battered. Reports from all the men indicated a masked figure, obscured by the poor lighting, but apparently his entire face was covered. He was an expert in hand to hand combat, but that should be pretty obvious, considering he beat down five trained security members plus Lock Up. I may hate the guy but give him his due, he's a physically trained beast and pretty handy with a baton, not to mention his hand to hand training."

"So an expert in martial arts. Not to mention infiltration. How did he manage to get the guards into a fight without having to deal with their weapons?"

"Far as we can tell?" He turned again, fetching a plastic bag from within his coat, a round, metal device sitting within. "Personal EMP device, knocked out all the guns these guys were using. They were all carrying LX-100s bought from Gotham. Of course a guy like Marco Vega could afford to buy them."

"So he knew how to infiltrate the grounds, how to disable the guards, was an expert in hand to hand combat and got Vega out of here almost without detection?"

Hennely smirked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was the Batman himself who did it."

"Damn."

"Only suspicion the officers had outside was when a rifle went off, but by the time they got in here, the intruder was gone. The rifle shows minor damage to the front end of the barrel, and we found this..." He pulled out yet another bag, this one holding a small shuriken, also known as a ninja star. "You know many men that can toss a metal item this small with enough force to force a gun barrel off? Not to mention use it with enough accuracy to strike that target."

"One. I'm sure he's not the only one, though."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's not, too. I may not like what you do, doesn't mean I think Batman would pull something like this."

"I appreciate the help, detective. I'm going to need to head back out to Old Gotham and check in."

Hennely shrugged, tucking the bag away. "I don't suppose you would be willing to return the favor and send a few clues my way?"

"Well, one good turn deserves another. I'll keep in touch."

"Need my cell number?"

A slight smile crossed her face. "Hate to tell you, but I've already got it. Along with the phone record of everyone else in Gotham."

"Not sure I like that fact."

"It proves pretty handy."

Hennely nodded, holding up a finger as she was preparing to back out. "One more thing."

Nightwing turned, her eyebrow arching upward, tugging the edges of her mask. "What?"

"Judging by everything we've seen here. Expert martial arts master. Expert infiltration. Cutting edge tech and mastery with weapons. I know it's not your guy, but if not, who could it be? This isn't Joker. Not Mad Hatter, or Scarecrow or Riddler. Hell, strong as he is, Lock Up doesn't have this wide of a skill set. So who would you pin it on?"

For a long moment she stood there, looking away, as she thought on it. "The only person that jumps to mind would never get his hands involved like this, at least, not directly. None of his family would, either."

"And who's that?"

"Terrorist by the name of Ra's al Ghul. He's got the infiltration skills, the fighting ability, and the resources to buy weapons like that EMP device, but he'd never get directly involved. He's got people to do that for him, but I don't know any of them that would fit this entire profile."

Hennely nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Okay. Get the hell out of here, before my people get back. And be careful."

She smiled, turning for the door. "I'll be in touch."

* * *

Whatever benefit of the doubt Batman had when working with local law enforcement, Catwoman shared none of it. Her life as a costumed figure had begun dramatically different, when she'd begun to employ her considerable acrobatic skills, not to mention her vast wealth and the toys it bought, for the purpose of high stakes theft. In her time as a thief she'd notorious throughout Gotham. Her targets were never middle class workers or average people getting by. First, there was little challenge in it, since they were rarely able to afford the security to challenge her. Second, she had always considered theft from the wealthy as a harmless endeavor. They could easily replace what she stole, after all, and she kept little of what she got. She had no use for it, being wealthy herself, and really lived on the thrill of the robbery. That had been enough, for years, to keep her satisfied.

For better or worse, her life had changed over the years, and she'd never tell it to his face, but Batman had been a part of that. She'd admired all the work he'd done helping Old Gotham when everyone else was abandoning it, and even if he didn't agree with what she'd done as a cat burglar, she'd always had beneficial interests in mind. The merchandise she'd stolen she'd sold off through various fences, including men like the Penguin, but the money she'd made had been put back into areas of town that were suffering from rampant poverty and crime. She'd never needed to keep the cash, she'd only done it for the excitement of it. The life of a wealthy debutante, while thrilling enough from time to time, got boring. Schmoozing with rich executives and celebrities was fun on a Friday night but she needed a hobby during her week. Still, seeing everything Batman did, she'd eventually moved away from the theft game entirely. At least, she didn't rob from wealthy socialites anymore. She still enjoyed robbing from men like Great White and Black Mask, and she did a pretty decent job in her role as a crimefighter, something she'd learned to enjoy as the years had passed on. The events of Thanksgiving Eve, and her role in it, having to help Nightwing and a few others in controlling an out of control, Joker gas influenced mob, had probably been her brightest moment. She had to admit she was proud of the change.

Still, that meant nothing to the police, and she'd been forced to creep and crawl her way past one officer after another, slinking behind them, skulking in the shadows as she'd made her way in through the rear entrance of the Fiora mansion. By the time she'd finally gotten upstairs, she'd begun counting the minutes. There was no way she could rush a job like this, but her heart was beating hard and she desperately wanted to get back to Old Gotham. She'd picked up a few things, though, as she'd crept along, listening in on the conversations of the officers that were drifting by.

There'd obviously been little struggle, that much she could confirm. The assailant had been a masked individual that had quickly dispatched the guards outside, and while old Fiora was a cautious gal, she hadn't employed a persona guard, like Vega had. As she passed into the bedroom, her gaze shooting back and forth around the room, she could only shake her head. Not even the bed seemed as if it had been slept in. "No signs of a fight at all," she said, nothing that all the windows in the room were closed. If any of them had been opened when the intruder had left, the police would have kept them open, at least if they'd been doing their jobs right. "It's almost as if they just went right out the front door. Guess you get that luxury when you knock out all the guards, but you would think she'd have at least screamed or something," she spoke quietly, shaking her head as she moved around the room. "Nothing broken, nothing busted, not even anything stolen. This guy was a pro, and he only had one thing in mind. Fiora."

Her hand went to her side, fetching a small device, which she activated with only a few quick taps. Soon it was buzzing, scanning the surrounding air. Bruce had done her the favor of sharing the tech with her once he'd finally started to believe she was on the straight and narrow. Well, straighter and narrower, with occasional twists. It helped scan the surrounding area to detect unusual signals like energy fluctuations and, as she held it up, it began to buzz wildly. "What the hell?" she asked, examining the readouts that were displaying. "No known source?" She tucked it away, putting it inside of her belt. If these energy sources were radioactive or produced by an electric device, her scanner would have been able to tell her. Now it was spitting out the equivalent of 'I give up'. "Which means someone was in here with a device that gives off energy readings not even Bruce's technology is aware of. That's something else." She turned aside, looking to the hallway, sighing as she retreated back the way she'd come. It wasn't much, but at least it was something. Nothing Bruce hated more than coming up empty on a crime scene.

* * *

Batman slowly stepped over piles of rubble that rose so high, they formed small hills, the distant lights of emergency vehicles flashing in what was otherwise pitch darkness. All the light for blocks were down, a result of the power grid failing when the explosion had occurred, and he was forced to rely on the nightvision in his helmet to assist him as he moved about. It was a bloody mess, and that wasn't just a turn of phrase. Parts of bodies occasionally jutted out of the rubble, and not necessarily attached to a human figure. Slabs of melted metal sat in huge chunks from where the heat had become so intense that entire structural supports had merged into one, and blood occasionally painted the ground around him. Though he was focused on tracking the explosion to its source, he also kept keenly attuned to any signs of survivors, aided by the Batwing's sensors as it slowly hovered high over the area. His teeth were clenched, his fists balled up, an anger seething in him as he made his way through the debris. It might as well have been the site of a bomb dropping.

He tried to suppress the welling rage that was building in his chest, focusing his steps onward, the helmet's eye pieces tracking the explosion to its source by following the decline of heat. Eventually he stepped into an area where all signs of former structures gave way, the ground blasted so smoothly it almost formed a new pavement. The heat was most intense here and, as he glanced around, a variety of chemical compounds began to scroll down the left side of his vision, the helmets scanners reporting all the identifiable compounds that had been in the area.

"Oracle, I think I'm at the center of the explosion. Can you give me the layout on Rupert Chemicals?"

_"It's coming to you now, Batman."_

He paused a moment as an overlay of the place appeared in the left side of his vision, a generic layout with his position identified by a small, red dot. "Zoom," he said, the map panning in so that a label of the room became apparent just next to his red marker. "Storage and cooling," he read off of it, frowning. "Map off." The display vanished, leaving him once again with only the sight of the destruction before him. His head pivoted about, gaze moving along the area. "We've got a problem."

_"What's going on? Any luck tracking down what caused this?"_

"Initially I thought this might have been a problem with a chemical mixture they were coming up with, but from what I can tell, this explosion began in their cooling storage. If that's true, then this explosion most likely started as a result of the chemicals exceeding the temperature they were supposed to be stored at. Unless the cooling spontaneously failed."

_"Any reason to believe that's what happened?"_

"No way to know right now, but I'm suspicious about something. The chemical list I'm getting from the readout indicates some pretty complicated mixtures. Whatever they were doing here, it was advanced, and obviously explosive. Thing is, the process for making some of these wouldn't be easy, and there aren't too many people with such advanced knowledge of chemical compounds to create, maintain and store these safely. Black Mask was either getting lucky with his operation here, or he was employing a genius."

_"So what are you saying? Is it possible that because of the complicated nature of developing these chemicals, it might be an accident?"_

"Even if it was, it makes me wonder who would be able to make these sorts of compounds."

_"That advanced."_

"That's an understatement. I'm talking about Joker level knowledge of chemical development, and beneath all the makeup, he's one of the greatest chemists I've ever seen. We know what he did with Titan, not to mention the Joker Bane toxin he used on Thanksgiving Eve."

_"Yeah, I remember. But Bruce, there's no way Joker would be working for Black Mask."_

"Unless he was setting him up." He shook his head. "Who else do we know that could be behind this sort of work?"

_"Off the top of my head? The most likely suspects would be either Scarecrow, Hugo Strange or Victor Fries. Scarecrow's hired out his expertise, and so has Stranger. Victor doesn't, but if Black Mask had Nora..."_

"Then Fries would do anything to get her back. Track them down and get back to me with a report. I need to know their last whereabouts and last known activities before I know my next move. For now I'm going to stay on the ground here and keep looking around, but as soon as you have anything for me, I need it."

_"You've got it."_

* * *

Commissioner Gordon was moving from emergency vehicle to emergency vehicle, dashing between conversations with officers on the ground to medical personnel that were pulling people from the debris field. Large spotlights whose power was being created by external generators helped illuminate the area, but they'd most likely be getting to real results until sunlight returned, not to mention until they got more responders on the ground. At the moment he felt helpless, as he awaited results from the detectives on the crime scene that had arrived with a handful of scientists, each of whom were operating out of mobile labs installed inside of massive trucks whose sides were labeled GCPD. His team, meanwhile, sat quietly inside of their armored van, each holding tightly to their rifles, making small talk. Their specialty was not in investigations of things like this, areas of mass destruction where it was less detective's instinct and more scientist's experiments that determined the cause. Still, if this had been sabotage, and any violent criminal elements emerged, they'd be invaluable.

He'd barely finished the thought when he turned to see a short, blue clad officer rushing up toward him. "Commissioner Gordon!" he exclaimed, darting to a stop before him.

"Calm down young man," Gordon replied quickly, gazing down on the youthful man. "What's going on."

"Sir, we're getting word of violence breaking out blocks away from here. Reports off the street say that there are gun fights breaking out between different groups north and south of here. One consistent report is that some of these men are wearing what appear to be Halloween masks, and they're pushing up out of the waterfront area, and south too, going block by block."

Gordon's features tightened. "Damn it. The False Face Society." He nodded, thrusting his finger back in the direction he'd come from. "Get back to your duties, I'll handle this."

The youth saluted quickly as he turned away, Gordon flying back to the van he'd arrived in, shoving his face inside where his team sat beside Harvey Bullock, all of them glancing at him at once. "Listen up men," he said, looking strained. "We've got reports that Black Mask is making a move. I don't doubt he's already trying to get his revenge for this explosion," he said as he heaved out a breath, nodding toward the back of the van. "Harvey, get on the line with central and tell them we're going to need every available unit down here. I want Hennely's quick response team and every other spare member we've got. Somehow we're going to have to lock down everything from here to up and down the waterfront, and we're not going to do that on twelve men alone."

Harvey nodded, quickly getting out of his seat and shifting to the back of the fan, were a radio system was kept. Gordon shut the doors, staring into the bewildered faces of his men one last time as he headed toward the driver's seat of the vehicle, sliding in quickly and strapping on his belt. He angled the truck toward the cluster of police vehicles that were already on the scene, knowing nobody was going to be happy with this turn in the night. Still, the GCPD was the only hope for stopping the violence before it escalated out of control, and he needed everyone available to him. He'd need more, of course. Many more, the sort of numbers that were only stationed in New Gotham these days. Until then, though, he had to find a way to hold the line.

* * *

_"Batman."_

Bruce's head jerked up, his face instinctively turning toward the Batwing, as if the voice was coming down from on high. "What's going on?"

_"Police reports say Black Mask's False Face Society is making moves up and down the waterfront. He's got men going south into Great White's territory and north into Penguin's. There are going to be a lot of people caught in the crossfire unless someone does something."_

Batman slammed his fist into his open palm, quickly dashing for the Batwing, ordering it to the ground with a tap of the control at his arm. "Got it. If we're going to stop that many men we're going to need backup though. Are the GCPD already on their way?"

_"En Route from New Gotham."_

"Good. We'll do what we can, but we're going to be most effective if we can take them down at the head. I'm going after Great White and Black Mask."

_"What about the Penguin?"_

"He's on my list, but he's not going to push past his borders. He's the least of my concerns right now."

_"Got it. I'll get Great White's and Black Mask's last known locations to you, then get on the trail of Scarecrow, Fries and Strange." _

"Good to hear." He shut the link as he leaped upward, propelling himself into the cockpit of the vehicle in a single, slick move, his body sliding into the control chair. With a roar the plane rose up, its engines flaring as it created a blue streak across the sky, heading south as fast as it would carry him.


	12. Chapter 11: Target Acquired

**Chapter Eleven**

_"Fear. It is the never subsiding, ever present motivation that moves us throughout life. You work because you fear poverty. You marry because you fear being alone. You have children because you fear the end of your existence. Fear is the great motivation, the great equalizer, a force that has no equal among all other emotions. When we were just mere Neanderthals, scratching around and trying to hunt animals for their skins, fear kept us alive. It let us know when to run, and when to fight. That's the great joke of it all. As advanced as we like to consider ourselves, we're still not much better than cavemen. Fear is the one thing still moving us throughout life. You know it. After all, you deal with patients all the time, just like I do. The difference between you and I is that I've acknowledged everything boils down to fear, and you're still trying to find other meaning behind why people do what they do. It's because everyone is scared of something. Add threat, or add pressure, and people will turn on each other. They will tear each other apart in their anxiety, in their terror. Multiply that a hundred times over, in a city like Gotham? Well I think we both know that this city is just one spark away from destroying itself."_

- _Scarecrow_

Oracle's voice broke in over the comm. _"Nightwing, are you there?"_

Tejeda's fingers thumb slid off the handle of her motorcycle for a moment, moving to her palm and activating the communicator built into her helmet. "Barbara, I'm underway out of New Gotham and heading back to the island. Just got done at Marco Vega's place, and not liking what I'm seeing."

_"What did you find out?"_

"Only that a Batman clone managed the break in. Turns out that whoever raided the place had some serious tech, the kind you can only afford with a lot of money. Not to mention they made the guards, not to mention Lock-Up, look like amateurs. Oh, all while doing all this completely unnoticed by the police stationed out at the front gate."

_"Seems like we've got a real player on our hands."_

"Yeah, I'm heading back to talk with Batman now."

_"Slight problem, Nightwing. Black Mask is moving his men out, probably as retribution for the factory explosion. He's making pushes into both Great White and Penguin's territory, and we need to stop them. Batman's heading to take out Black Mask personally, and the police are en route from New Gotham to help stop the gang war breaking out on the east stretch."_

She glanced aside a moment, gliding the motorcycle around the slowly moving traffic as she accelerated, her vehicle flying forward as it began to pass over the bridge to Old Gotham. At evenings, there was little traffic heading that way. "So what do you need me to do?"

_"Black Mask and Great White's men are already getting into it and there are a lot of lives on the line. I need you to get out there and save who you can, and stop who can. Backup the police, because if I'm getting the reports right, then Black Mask has a small army on the street right now."_

She nodded, turning the throttle on her bike as she hit open street, the vehicle rocketing ahead. "I'm on it. Give me an address and I'll be there."

* * *

Catwoman thought she momentarily saw the Nightbird, Nightwing's personal motorcycle, fly ahead of her car as she pushed it as quickly as she could back toward Old Gotham. It was as sporty as they came, a benefit of having riches, and capable of outrunning almost any other vehicle on the street. Apparently, one of the few exceptions was Nightwing's.

_"Catwoman?" _came Barbara's voice over the comm. _"Are you close by?"_

"You know it Barb."

_"I just got done talking to Nightwing."_

Selina's mouth turned slightly, smirking. "Yeah, I think she just passed me by. Anyway, I'm nearly back from Delina Fiora's place. I think I need to share a few things with Bruce."

_"Why? What's going on?"_

"I'm not sure what the Vega scene looked like, but it doesn't seem like old Fiora much up much of a fight. I don't know if that's because she knew she didn't have a chance, or something else. What I do know is that there was something there, some type of energy. I used one of those neat toys Batman lent me, and even that couldn't tell what I was looking at. I think we might have to run it through something stronger, like that computer he's got back at the cave."

_"Upload the data to me as soon as you can get to a stop. Then I need you to help the police. Black Mask's men are going to war with Great White and Penguin. I've already got Nightwing helping with White's men, but I need you to go where Penguin's men are. Backup the police and save whoever you can until Bruce can get to Black Mask."_

She nodded. "Right. You got an address for me?"

_"I'll send it in one second. We're still waiting for the police to arrive from New Gotham. My dad's already on the ground with some of the local officers and his strike team, but the main force is on the other side of the bridge."_

Selina's eyes went to the rear view mirror of her car, a sudden flood of red and blue lights sparkling in the distance. "Got at least some good news for you Barbara. Looks like the backup team is getting ready to take the field."

_"You see them?"_

"I'm crossing the bridge right now. They're not far behind."

_"Good. We'll –"_

Their voices cut off. In the rearview of her mirror, Selina watched as a diabolic red and orange hue erupted outward from the bridge, reverberating through the concrete. Tremors shook along the ground, her car skidding almost uncontrollably as she struggled to maintain control, the wheel pulling away from her as she tried to straighten it out. She could feel as the bridge supports detonated, the entire structure shaking and rising like a wave, pulsing outward from the center then toward the edges.

Far above, news helicopters filmed as the center of the bridge suddenly tore itself apart, the great suspension cables snapping like thin lines of string, though their thick, steel tendons whipped outward with enough force to toss cars over and into the ocean. The support struts beneath the bridge went flying outward like oversized bullets, rocketing into the seas as the center of the bridge tore apart. Like a great mouth yawning open, the concrete pulled away, sailing upward for a second from the force of the detonation. A moment filled tv screens when dozens upon dozens of police vehicles filled the skies, like Christmas lights or fireworks, their vehicles tossed by the handful into the ocean below. The bridge itself quickly began to fall, its edges crashing into the waters.

Back in her car, Catwoman watched as the bridge gave way, its mammoth surface quickly sinking into the sea. As it did, it rushed toward her, and she jammed on her vehicle's accelerator, pushing the car forward. She stayed only moments ahead of the sinking bridge, her eyes flicking between the road ahead and the sinking bridge behind her. The wheels of her car turned at maximum speed, the rear tires skipping along just seconds ahead of the plummeting concrete. Her palms squeezed tightly on the wheel as she urged the car on the final few feet, her car flying ahead and leaping onto solid ground as the bridge collapsed behind her.

The back end of the vehicle began to spin out behind her, the car going into a swirling loop. She jammed the wheel into the spin, turning the car and somehow guiding it back onto a straight line as she slid to a stop near to an empty bus terminal. She gasped, a fist clutching at her chest for a second as she stared behind her, into the devastation that had just unfolded. Her hand went to the communicator, her breath coming out in huge, heavy pants.

_"Selina. Selina! Are you alright?"_

"Yeah Barbara, just barely," she confirmed, talking through labored breaths, still watching the scene unfolding in her rearview. "I just… did you just see that?"

_"It's all over the news. Medical staff are already heading out there. Are you alright, though?"_

"Yeah I'm just… that was close, is all."

_"There's something else going on here, Selina. Somebody's been planning something for a long time. They knew what sort of response the GCPD would send, and they were ready. We're not going to be able to get any other officers out to you for a long time. That means it's up to you, Nightwing and Batman."_

Selina nodded, eyes moving ahead to the road, her foot pumping down on the gas pedal. "I feel sorry for whoever it is. They just got on this girl's bad side."

* * *

Commissioner Gordon slammed the radio set into the dash, growling as Harvey Bullock glanced aside, his teeth gnawing on a solitary toothpick. "Everything ok there, chief?"

"They just blew up the Gotham Bridge," Gordon shot back, eyes flicking to the window. "We had half the GCPD on there when they sent it sky high. Emergency crew are on their way and we've got boats in the water, but there are a ton of good men out there who are hurt, dying or dead. How are we going to tell that many family's that they lost good husbands, wives, daughters and sons?"

"Same way we always have to, boss. Just a lot more telling this time."

"This night's not even half over, Harvey," he spoke softly, bringing up the rifle and glancing over the emblem on its side. "This may be the only good thing Lex Luthor ever did for Gotham, but I'll take it, at least right now. We've got murderers prowling the streets, firing on anything that moves, blowing up everything in sight. I'd say we need the firepower right now."

Harvey nodded, watching the road ahead, where a line of police cars glowed in the distance. Their lights flashed, blue and red flaring on the window, the air filling up with the sound of gun fire. He flinched as the first trails of bullets struck their window, small scratches marking the bulletproof glass as the shots ricocheted off into the night. The armored truck rumbled to a halt, a line of police cars pulling behind them and parking in such a way that they blocked the street, forming a line of protection against incoming gun fire. The truck itself was nearly impervious. Like the LX-100s that Luthor had sold them, the vehicle they were traveling in was a modification of the trucks they used to keep the supercriminals of Metropolis in check. It was nearly impervious to anything except a punch from no less than Superman himself.

From the back the doors opened, the newly assembled task force dashing out, their faces guarded by fully enveloping helmets, their bodies framed in highly resistant armor plating. Harvey and Gordon kept low to the ground, trailing the black armored men that led the way to the wall of defense formed by the first responding police officers. A nonstop, whirring sound filled the air, the choppy sound of gun fire quickly emanating through the streets as concrete was broken up and the front of police cars were bored into by bullet holes.

Gordon slid to a police car, his back to its door. "They've got some kind of firepower out there!" he screamed, thrusting his finger back. The strike team nodded, glancing quickly over the edges of the cars. Their visors quickly displayed targeted threats, isolating a hastily mounted gun turret that sat on the back of a jeep. Its occupant swung the massive gun back and forth, littering the streets with such fire that it prevented any of the police officers present from even attempting to respond. "This is no crime scene, it's a war zone! I need that jeep out of the picture!"

He swept his finger at the two men near him and pointed over the roof of the car. They responded, the first sliding along to the rear of the vehicle. He popped upward, quickly firing into the streets. The LX-100s were capable of a range of damage, and at its lowest setting was little more than a powerful shock wave. While he fired along at the various members of the False Face Society that were creeping toward the police line, driving them back, his companion turned quickly, over the front hood of the car. The gunner on the jeep was turning his weapon away, and in the few seconds that were left open, the Gotham officer fired off a blast of much higher intensity. It crossed the distance from their position to the jeep in an instant, the vehicle flipping backward, its underbelly shearing into pieces from the force of the blow. As its occupant was thrown clear, his weapon now little more than metal bits flying through the air, the rest of the task force turned, emptying their weapons into the street ahead. Joined by the rest of the GCPD on the scene, the armored strike force pushed ahead, leaping over the cars and firing at their enemies under the protection of cover fire.

Harvey whistled, his eyes bulging. "Good got dang, chief. Those rifles can do some heavy hitting."

"And that armor can soak up a lot of firepower. Let's say one thanks to Luthor, and one thanks to Wayne for this stuff."

"It's no wonder they're using it in Metropolis all the time. Ain't no way you could bring down some of their superfreaks without it."

"Well, we've got enough of our own causing trouble here, Harvey. Let's focus on getting this situation under control before we start thinking about others."

Harvey nodded, sliding along the base of the vehicle and around the front hood, Gordon quickly following. They watched as the final remnants of the False Face Society began to pull away, abandoning their stunned comrades, who lay strewn across the streets in piles, dazed and unconscious. At the first sign of the battle's end, the police force dashed forward, ripping the weapons of their enemies away and cuffing them. Gordon's hand tightened as he watched the scene.

"Do you think it's Black Mask behind this?"

Harvey shrugged. "Do I think Sionis is a crazy enough son of a bitch to blow up his own factory, just to have an excuse to go to war with his competitors? Damn right I think he is."

They were interrupted as a thundering noise filled the skies above, their eyes going toward the empty evening sky as a black vehicle soared overhead, the eerie blue glow of its engine trailing it as it sailed into the distance. Gordon smiled slightly, watching as it soared to parts unknown, into the distant east stretch of Old Gotham.

"Well, looks like Sionis is soon going to have company."

* * *

Batman watched the scene unfolding beneath him, hands working the controls of the Batwing as he watched as the people below screamed and ran, everyday citizens mixing with hordes of masked thugs that were pushing through the streets with bats and metal pipes. As much as he wanted to continue on toward the waterfront, he eased the Batwing back, hovering over the scene, the cockpit glass sliding back. Unstrapping himself from the vehicle, he put a foot along the grip on the side of the seat, propelling himself outward. The wings he wore extended outward, the air currents catching him as he glided downward into the chaos unfolding below. Members of the False Face Society, their gruesome masks setting them apart, were locked in combat with men who wore white masks over their faces, signs of Great White's gang. As he flashed downward into the crowd, spotting pockets of innocents that were trapped in the melee, he thrust his feet outward. His heavy boots collided into the back of one of the thugs, sending him sprawling forward, the man collapsing into some of his comrades.

Bruce launched himself into the battle, his armored fist cracking one man across the nose before he turned, directing a kick outward and into the chest of another. His leg swept downward and to the side, kicking a man out at the knees before he finished his rotation, bringing his arm up to block an attackers strike. He caught the man's fist in his mechanized hand, the mechanical servos aiding him. His grip locked down, the man's knuckles cracking slightly as he did, sending the thug into a pained whale as he collapsed to the ground, clutching at his wrist. Batman propelled himself to the sidewalk, swimming through a sea of combatants. At every turn he was forced to block another blow, ducking beneath a swinging fist or leaning back to avoid an incoming pipe. Every second wasted he could see the small group of men and women, backs pressed to a street store, the crowd converging on them. Bruce's face locked as he grappled one man that charged at him, lifting him upward and tossing him aside, only to be confronted by five more thugs that blocked his view of those he was trying to save.

Suddenly, though, the mob surrounding the innocents began to back off, a new combatant entering the fray. Thugs screamed, grasping at their jaws and collapsing to the ground as their legs cracked, a young stranger fighting his way through the crowd of criminals. Batman and this new fighter were slowly making their way toward one another, clearing the crowd. Through the confused mix of fists, faces and bodies, he could make the boy out, what seemed to be a broom stick in his hand, the straw bristles torn off the end. He was using it as a staff, spinning it overhead and bringing it downward, cracking men across the temples and sending them dizzy into the concrete, before he danced away. Every punch he threw he followed with an acrobatic move, dancing among the men he was surrounded by. Planting his hands to the ground, he pivoted his legs, sweeping them outward and sending a wave of the thugs colliding into one another as they sank to the floor.

The duo cleared the space between them, finally themselves staring at one another just a short distance apart. Bruce measured the young man, his loose jeans and his hung hood disguising an athletic frame, his red and green hoodie loosely falling over his body, the hood pulled up and over his brown skin. He paused, recognizing the boy.

"R.J.?"

The boy seemed taken aback as he stared at the Dark Knight, pulling his hoodie down from around his face. "What? How do you know my name?"

Bruce realized he hadn't actually seen the boy outside of his Wayne persona. "I'm… Batman."

"Uh. Yeaaah." He fidgeted. "Nevermind, I guess that's good enough."

He shook his head, stepping over to the boy. "Get these people out of here. Move them behind the store, down the alley. I've got to take care of things out here."

"I'll get them away, then I'll come back and help."

"No. They need someone to protect them. There might be other people that need rescuing. I'll send them your way, then I'll meet up with you when I'm done."

R.J. didn't look pleased, but he nodded, moving aside to the small group and ushering them away from the conflict that was still erupting up and down the street, where groups of men pummeled one another in a brute attempt to capture the area. Batman glanced down the length of the block, identifying new targets, his feet propelling him forward with a burst of speed made possible by the mechanical servos inside of his armor. Screams of pain arose from the crowd as he leapt over his opponents, crashing down on their backs before raising a fist, cracking some across the heads before again swinging wide with a swift thrust of his leg. From above, the Batwing slowly glided down the street, a turret from is underbelly firing away with electronic pulses. Oracle, though miles away, gleefully controlled its systems from her remote computer station, targeting the criminals that swept the streets and dispatching them with the electronic pulses of the turret.

_"It's like playing a video game," _she said, her voice in Bruce's ear even as he danced among the crowd, pivoting and thrusting outward, beefy fists cracking into the bones of his enemies.

"Lives are on the line, Oracle."

_"Don't worry, Bruce. I've got this."_

Bullets rained through the air, firing upward at the vehicle as it lowered, ricocheting off its surface as the turret rotated, its gun locking on nearby targets and sending them flying away. As the crowds were cleared, Batman maneuvered toward those innocents that had been caught on the street, quickly ushering them away while Oracle covered his back, sweeping them toward the alleyway and the security that R.J. provided. Slowly, recognizing the superior weaponry aboard Batman's vehicles, the remaining groups of thugs dispersed, fleeing into the night and vanishing from the battlefield. Bruce surveyed the street, his ears picking up no further sounds in the immediate area, though far in the distance there was a perpetual sound of gunfire. Satisfied that the area was secured, he returned to the alleyway, turning the corner to find a ready R.J., his makeshift staff clutched firmly in his hands. The boy sighed in relief at the sight of Batman, the two quickly working their way to one another.

Bruce nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Nice moves. Where'd you pick them up?"

"Half in Real Rhythm's Dance Studio. The other half in Third Street's Krav Maga Center."

"You blend those together yourself?"

"Always had a knack for it, I guess."

Batman nodded. "So did I. But why are you out here?"

R.J. glanced around, waving toward the buildings. "This is my home. I mean, this neighborhood is. I couldn't stand by and watch people I know get hurt, you know?"

"I do."

"Besides, I felt sort of, I don't know…" His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing at it. "Sort of responsible for all this."

"You? What did you have to do with any of this?"

"Well I mean, personally, I had nothing to do with it. But when I saw those guys with the masks, I knew it was the False Face Society."

Batman's eyes narrowed, his voice growling. "How?"

R.J. took a step back, eyes flashing wide. "No wait. I never did anything, never hurt anyone or anything like that. I'm not that guy, never stole or broke in anywhere, but I did deliver messages, for Roman Sionis. I've seen these guys around before, at this office. When things get dark on the east stretch, that place… it becomes something different. During the daytime it's just an office, but at night, all sorts of these types of guys are around, wearing those dumb ass masks."

Batman pointed a finger toward him. "You said you ran messages. Did you know that something like this was going to happen?"

"Not completely. I had a hint of it, but I didn't realize how serious it was. Sionis had me running messages to people, messages he said he couldn't trust to the phone or radio. So I hand delivered his orders. You do that enough times, overhear enough conversations, and you pick up a few things. I knew he was planning to go to war, I just didn't know how big it was going to be. Once I realized what was happening, I had to figure out a way to help. This was the only thing I knew to do."

Bruce believed the boy. Like a lot of teens on the streets, makings ends meet was difficult, and a job was a job. "You said you've been around Sionis' offices. Is that on the waterfront?"

"Yeah, but he moved locations a few weeks back, said something about too many people knowing where he was operating out of."

"Then where is he now?"

"3341 Watertown Edge. Why? You going after him? Because if so, I want in on this."

"No," Batman replied, shaking his head. "Sionis is a brutal killer. Anything you've seen his thugs do is nothing compared to what he's capable of."

"But I want to help," he protested. "I've got to do something."

"You can. Save some lives. Those people back there? They still need someone to get them home. Get them out of here, somewhere they'll be safe. If that's their apartment, fine. It's a lot better than wandering the street with all this going on right now. Get them somewhere close, because you shouldn't be on the street while all this is happening, either. You've got talent, but that's not enough in a situation like this."

R.J. looked disappointed, but nodded. "Alright, I'll get them somewhere nearby, at least until the police come."

"That's going to be a while," he replied, motioning into the distance. "Someone's taken out half the Gotham police force, sent them plummeting into the ocean by detonating the bridge. You're going to need to hold out for a while."

"Got it. What about you?"

"I'm going after Sionis. If I take him down, then this gang war ends. His goons won't keep fighting if there's no paycheck involved in it."

"Alright."

Bruced turned aside, giving the boy a final glance. "Be careful out there."

"Yeah man," he replied, tapping on his chest. "I'll be fine. Good luck to you, too."

"Don't need it." Batman sprinted away, arm raising, his grappling device flying into the air. Its magnetic lock honed in on the Batwing, whipping him upward into the skies as the vehicle began to arc away, his body quickly flying upward and swinging into the cockpit. He was in his seat only a second, the safety harness snapping into place and the cockpit glass sliding closed as the rear thrusters kicked in. A booming noise filled the air as the Batwing rocketed away, Bruce's hands locked tightly on the controls.

_"I guess we don't need to worry about tracking down Scarecrow or Frieze, then, now that we've got Black Mask's location."_

"Right. Even if they were involved, they were just the hired help. Right now we need to cut off the head of the snake."

_"Got it. Natalie and Selina are backing up the Gotham police, what little there are over here, anyway. Dad's got that new squad of his pushing back against Black Mask's people. They're not looking too bad out there, Bruce."_

"That's the first good news all night."


	13. Chapter 12: The Black Mask

**Chapter 12**

**The Black Mask**

_"You rule it. With fear, with power. It doesn't come easy. You've got to kill or be killed, because there ain't no other way in Gotham. Look at all those old birds. Carmine Falcone, Lew Moxon. Who gives a damn about any of them these days? They slowed down, got soft. Started playing within the rules too much because they were afraid of losing their fortunes. Now where are they? Dead, or on the run. Mob's got nothing on this city anymore. I run it. It's mine. While Penguin was quacking and Joker was running around being an idiot, who is it that brought it all together? Me. I had the iron to do it while everyone else was playing it safe, playing their little games with each other or the Batman. I'm not that guy. I'm not here to play games. I'm here to have it all."_

_- Black Mask_

The night sky was lighting up as the air detonated with explosives, plumes of red orange fire decorated the black canvas of the evening, the dark clouds rolling above glowing with the brightness of the detonations. Nightwing glanced up a moment, biting her lip. "What the hell's going on up there?" she asked, shaking her head as she turned her attention to the scene unfolding below. There was a three way shootout happening, and the Gotham PD had it the worst. They'd pulled their cars together, encircling the middle of the street with their vehicles, their warning lights dancing against the buildings that surrounded the intersection. North of their position, a bunch of thugs in black and white vests and uniforms were piled behind rows of garbage dumpsters and box crates, their guns flaring up in sporadic bursts. South, a separate group wearing Halloween masks were returning fire, and there the police were in the middle of it all. Groups of citizens huddled down low to the concrete, the officers joining them as they tried to avoid the gunfire flashing around their heads.

"Well Bats said to worry about Mask's goons first," she said with a grin as she launched off the rooftop, diving through the air a moment before firing off her grappling gun, which ate into the nearby concrete wall. She flicked downward, propelling through the air, her hand flipping outward and firing a series of darts from her wrist. They softly whistled through the air as she sailed, undetected, over the heads of their enemies. Three of the False Face Society grasped at their necks as she passed through the blackness, suddenly slumping downward to the ground. Her legs hit the nearby building wall, her body propelling her away from it as she tossed several smoke bombs downward into their midst. The men turned about, coughing as the narrow street suddenly started to fill up with an inky blackness, their hands grasping outward into the darkness as they struggled to see. She slid from man to man, wrapping her arm around the neck of one and squeezing until he'd gone unconscious, then proceeding to another where a thunderous clap to his temples sent him falling to the concrete.

Desperate, the men started firing wildly into the black and, her eyes shooting upward, she fired her grapple gun once more and accelerated to the safety of the rooftops. Below, she watched the black clouds rolling about, lit up by the sporadic bursts of gunfire. The clouds glowed in sudden bursts before finally fading away, revealing a group of downed men. Some were unconscious by her hand, while others grasped at bullet wounds, blood seeping through their clothes. "That's one group down," she said, eyes turning to the opposite side of the streets, across the way from the police. "Don't want to leave all this to the police though." She grinned as her legs propelled her forward, her momentum taking her off the edge of the building as her grapple gun fired off once again.

* * *

Catwoman's vehicle roared through the streets, her eyes occasionally going to the fiery skies above. She knew Oracle wanted her to go handle the situation on the east stretch between Great White's thugs and Black Mask's, but she had other plans. For the moment she'd switched off the communicator, in no mood to argue with Barbara about the situation, and rode along through the empty streets of the city. Bursts of gun fire could be heard in the distance, but she was too far from the action to see any of the gang war now erupting near the waterfront.

Two things sat heavily on her mind. The first was the level of weaponry being used in this struggle. Beyond the detonation at the chemical factory and the collapse of the bridge, she'd seen signs of truck mounted turrets and more than a number of high powered rifles. Now, the skies above Gotham were lighting up like the Fourth of July, with huge explosions booming throughout the city. It was so intense that she could occasionally feel the streets beneath her shake. Her car bounced off the pavement as the vibrations shook the ground, and she held tightly to the wheel, struggling to keep it under control.

She pushed the thoughts of it away, though. For now, she didn't have to worry about guns. Her concern was the energy signature she'd picked up in the scans. Without Bruce, there was no way to analyze exactly what it was she was looking at, and she knew he'd hate the decision she'd made. Still, she couldn't help it. Even with the world falling apart, a girl had to have her fun. Her car soared along, the scanner on the dashboard revealing the growing intensity of the signal as she pushed northward, away from the violence. If her hunch was right, if she was reading this gadget correctly, then she was hot on the tail of Delina Fiora. Whoever had taken her was leaving behind an energy signature so strong it was like tracking a giant walking through a forest. It left a path so obvious you'd have to purposely try to ignore it.

As she rounded another corner, the scanner began to scream, the building before her looming against the skyline. It was tall and intimidating, once a well known facility in Old Gotham, its architecture a tribute to the old Art Deco style. Its sharp lines and bold statues decorated the exterior, its brass exterior glimmering under the lights of the streets, its grand doors swung wide open. Above the main entry as a great image of a man holding up the world. Atlas, one of the great, ancient gods.

She smirked. "What a place to hold up, of all places in Old Gotham," she said, nearly laughing as she got out of the vehicle about a block down from the entry. She moved into the shadowy hiding places along the walls of the surrounding buildings, creeping her way through the darkness and ever nearer to the darkened façade of her target. "The old Ricco Hall."

Years before, long before New Gotham had begun to rise as the premier place for such things, Ricco Hall had been one of the most sought after locations in the city. For years untold riches had passed through it as the wealthy moved in and out of its doors. Even as Old Gotham had begun to decline, Ricco Hall and the surrounding areas had managed to retain their elegance and riches, thanks in no small part to the protection the Mob had long afforded Lew Moxon and his cronies. While on the outside it was a respectable gathering hall, a place where politicians, actors, businessmen and the generally affluent came to rub shoulders, it had also been the central point of a massive black market. Rampant gambling took place in the private rooms of the hallway, and after hours, long after the lights were closed, a stream of weapon sales had helped line the pockets of Moxon's crew. That didn't even touch on the prostitution and drug sales, things Carmine Falcone had never been too fond of. Still, Moxon had grown powerful, powerful enough to remain a suspect in the death of the Wayne Family, and Falcone had tried to avoid a civil war by allowing Moxon some leeway in that regard. Personally, Falcone kept strict regulation over his own establishments that prevented the drug trade from flooding the streets, but he'd been forced to allow powerful lieutenants like Moxon his sales. That, or get involved in a bloody conflict that Falcone had become increasingly averse to with age.

Then, everything had gone to hell. Moxon had gotten just a bit too uppity, had gotten himself locked away just as the Falcone empire was going to hell. Powerful lieutenants were arrested or killed, and with Falcone exposed, men like the Joker, Penguin and others had moved in. Ricco Hall had been replaced by the Iceberg Lounge, and the entire illicit market had shifted. Now, Penguin occupied the place Moxon had at one time, profiting off a string of illegal transactions. Ricco Hall was now just an empty, desolate tribute to an old empire.

"Good riddance," she smirked as she crossed the street, her footsteps quiet and quick as she made her way to the front doors. She'd left the scanner behind, keeping only to her own weapons and tools. Still, as she approached, she found little to warrant any concern. The inside was unlit, and little light from outside penetrated within the grand entry ballroom. Her goggles slid down over her eyes, fitting snugly over them as she glanced around, her nightvision activating and allowing her at least some vision of the area. All the old tables were still standing, some even with their dining clothes set over them, though a layer of dust sat all along them. Chairs were broken and scattered, all the old TVs now sitting dead within their frames on the wall. A great walkway lined the level above her, the second floor where VIP guests were invited, and doors ran into many hallways that divided the area.

Still, there'd always been one room, the Smoking Room, where Moxon had run his business from. Her years of studying the various buildings around Gotham, combined with her excellent memory, perhaps the only thing remotely close to a 'power' that she could lay claim to, had given her a near total knowledge of the layouts and blueprints of Gotham's most prominent facilities. Ricco Hall was no different, and she stealthily made her way to the opposite end of the hall, up the short stairs but avoiding those that led onto the second level.

Instead she passed between the main doors on that end, opposite the entry doorways now far behind her, the doors creaking open. Lining the walls were portraits of old Italian mobsters and their families, alongside portraits of the Sicilian countryside. "How stereotypical. I feel like I'm in a shooting for the new Godfather movie," she said as she moved down the hallway to a set of doors. They seemed rather unremarkable, and were not labeled as anything important. Once upon a time they might have been locked but now, her hand falling upon the handle, they swung open without resistance. As she stepped inside, she couldn't help but smile. Her knowledge had not failed her, and she slid the goggles upward above her brow.

This room, of them all, was alive. The electric chandelier that hung far above glowed with a synthetic light that passed through glass lenses and flashed outward on the expansive room, tables encircling the center while a red carpet led forward to a dance stage, a mammoth curtain closed. Still, on stage there was a thin figure, lashed to a chair, her frame still. Selina frowned as she crossed over, passing along the dance floor and all the elegant decorations toward the person now seated, her eyes blindfolded and her mouth gagged. She leaned in, looking the older woman up and down.

"Fiora?" she whispered, concerned. The woman did not seem to be hurt but was at least unconscious. Glancing around she could see nobody else, and there was nothing she could hear that might indicate another person around. So, planting a hand on the stage's edge, she propelled herself upward onto the stage. Quickly she circled behind Delina Fiora, reaching to her side and pulling a small blade from her side. "I'll have you out of here in a second."

A voice erupted from behind her. "Will you?" Before Catwoman could turn, a hand burst out from the thick curtain at her rear, gloved, stone hard fingers encompassing her skull and twisting her head aside. She went flying along the ground, her body rolling off the stage and onto the floor as a large figure passed out onto the stage. Selina rolled onto her feet, gaining her balance quickly as she surveyed the figure before her. He was huge, bigger than Bruce but obviously heavily armored, not to mentioned armed. Rounds of bullets encircled his great chest, encompassing a frame guarded by plates of armor that ran down his shoulders and torso, a second layer of flexible armor dipping beneath the chest plate and tucking in at his waist. Great gauntlets guarded metallic hands, while layers of Kevlar covered his legs and ran down into his metallic boots. Two eyes peered at her from behind a mask, his entire frame colored in orange and black.

She shook her head. "What are you supposed to be? Resident Gotham psycho number one hundred and one?"

He chuckled, his voice modulated by the mask, so much like Batman's. "Funny. Always heard you had a sense of humor, Catwoman, though I must admit you're not the one I expected to see here."

"You really know how to make a girl feel welcome."

"I was always raised to respect a lady."

She smiled. "Got the banter out of your system now?"

He shrugged, holding his arms out. "We'll got at your pace. I'm not the one that's at risk here."

Selina licked at her lips. "I love a challenge."

"Then you're going to love me."

Without further hesitation she launched off her place near the floor, sprinting toward her opponent. He stood, not raising even a finger as she quickly flew at him, legs propelling her at speeds impossible for most humans to imagine. Within arms reach of him her legs kicked her upward, her frame flying above his, her hand sliding to his shoulder guard as she prepared to strike behind him. Her body contorted in mid air, her weight shifting, but as she began to cross over his frame she felt him drop suddenly to the ground. It threw off her vaulting maneuver and she suddenly fell to the floor, her feet barely sweeping beneath her body in time to land on her legs, but without the time to react as the stranger thrust his arm backward in a sweeping motion. With a power she'd rarely felt or been exposed to he struck her in the stomach, his entire forearm crunching against her upper abdomen and just beneath her ribs. The air escaped her lips in a desperate gasp as she fell backward, her body sprawling along the ground as the man got to his feet, his eyes shooting toward her.

"That's strike one," he said, his arms wrapping behind his back. "Two more, and you're out."

For a moment her hands searched along the ground, her palms barely keeping her upright as she pushed herself upward, her world blurry as tears surged in her eyes. She was used to pain, but it felt as if her lungs had collapsed for a moment, and the burning in her body was incomparable. Nobody, absolutely nobody, have ever hit her with that much force, and it took all her effort to maintain her position. She turned to him, her fingers wiping at her face.

"Got to admit…" she huffed, barely sucking wind. "You're pretty good."

"If it's any consolation, that move would have worked on nearly any other opponent you might have faced. You're quite fast and, to your credit, your agility is almost incomparable."

"Thanks for the flattery," she said as she launched at him again. His hands dropped to his side as he turned slightly, the angle of his body narrow as she rushed at him. She leaped, swinging a leg outward at his head as she flew at him, the tip of her boot missing his face by inches as he leaned slightly away. Her momentum took her just past his body and she hit the ground, her leg sweeping backward in a long kick aimed at his knee. With a quick raise of his leg he avoided her strike, bringing his own foot backward in a kick. Caught in her own strike, her body turned, her back to him as the large boot cracked against her back, sending her violently forward. She gasped as she once again found herself on the ground, her face buried in the carpet.

"I tried to take that one easy on you," he said, stepping back a bit. "But that was strike two. I'm being very serious about this next move, Catwoman. Strike three, and you're out."

She growled, pushing off the ground once again. Within a moment she was in front of him, feigning with her left fist before lashing out with her right. He stepped back slightly as the blow swung wide, but Selina used her momentum to pivot her leg upward, rotating in a circle while her leg kicked outward. He grunted as the blow struck him square in the stomach, then pounced, leaping at him. As her blow came down at his neck he quickly recovered though, ducking as the strike passed overhead. She went sailing past him, and could only feel as he wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her upward, then slammed backward. The pair of them crashed into the floor, but he angled her body so that her head struck the ground hard, her vision going blurry as she tumbled along the ground. Dazed, she tried to push herself back up, hands and legs burning as she pushed off the floor. Her eyes flickered to the left, where she could only watch as the wavering image of her attacker walked steadily toward her. As she tried to back away he leapt forward, and the last thing she saw was the blow he brought down toward her nose. Then, a crack of pain, and blackness.

* * *

Batman hauled hard on the controls of the Batwing, angling it upward as explosions rang out all around his vehicle, the nose of it aiming straight upward as detonations echoed in the night skies behind him. Jamming at a button on his controls, a spread of flares erupted from the rear of the jet, flares erupting behind him and arcing outward like glowing angel wings. The explosives behind him arced away slightly as the roaring engine saved his life, the aircraft rocketing upward with only seconds to spare, the explosives chasing his vehicle igniting in thunderous displays that reflected in the glass of his cockpit. Warning lights were ringing all around as he brought the vehicle back into a descent, flying downward to the ground at too fast a rate, the g forces pressing hard against his body as the vehicle shot back toward the waterfront.

_"Bruce, what's going on!?" _Oracle demanded over the comm.

"Black Mask's upped his arsenal," he grunted, pulling back on the control stick and leveling his vehicle as he sped away. "The area around the waterfront isn't just armed with thugs with guns, he's armed the roof of his building with anti aircraft defenses. I'm going to circle back around, but I can't bring the Batwing to a hover over his area."

_"Then how are you going to get to the building?"_

"Just watch," he said with a smile. The aircraft rocketed back toward the target, the vehicle slowing down dramatically as they passed overhead. On his console, lights began to flare as missiles popped up along the screen, warning him of incoming fire. "Barbara. Take care of the Batwing for me."

_"Bruce?"_

The overhead cockpit slid away as the vehicle came to a near stop, his restraints falling away as the Bat began to ascend once more, arcing upward and away, throwing him from the vehicle. For a moment he was in a free tumble so high over the city that everything was a glowing blur of lights that flashed before his eyes. It took a moment to regain his orientation, and he watched as red lights flared away, streams of smoke tailing them as rockets pursued after his aircraft. This all happened in seconds before he thrust his arms outward, the cape on his back stiffening and catching the strong air currents swirling through the waterfront. He brought his arms back, catching less air and speeding his descent, his body flying downward to the large building he'd marked as the source of his trouble. It rose above the rest of the waterfront, larger than the rest of the office buildings and glowing with lights, perhaps twenty stories tall easily. Leave it to Sionis to revel in his wealth even when he was trying to remain undercover. He cut toward it, spreading his arms as he drew ever near, eyeing the men arming the rooftop defense. It was a large, bulky thing, at least two decades old but effective enough at close range when he was trying to put the Batwing into hover. As it was, they had no way of tracking his heatless signature as he rocketed toward them. He thrust his arms outward, the cape catching wind again and putting him level to the roof of the building.

Appearing out of the darkness, he was unseen until the moment his body collided with the missile operator. The man went flying along the ground as did Batman, though the cushioned advantage of the suit's shock absorbers allowed him to tuck into a roll. Quickly he was back on his feet, his visor identifying a half dozen men all raising guns at him. Without hesitations he thrust his wrist outward, firing off volleys of the Batarangs that soared through the air, colliding with the barrels of the guns and sending them scattering along the ground. The advantage of the new suit's targeting system was, admittedly, impressive. Still, not hesitating, his hand whipped forward with a cluster of smoke pellets that burst in midair, blanketing the rooftop with smoke. As his assailants struggled, Batman rushed by. He had little time for needless combat and had a ruthless criminal to find, and he quickly swept pass those on the roof to the door leading into the belly of the offices.

He burst into the top of a large, multi level tower the center of which was vacant, allowing a long look down toward the bottom of the building. Office doors lined each level, and decorative plants and foliage acted to make the place rather inviting. At least, it would have been, except for the sight he caught next. Men up and down each level suddenly glanced upward as he hovered at the edge of the top floor, their guns raising upward in reaction. Sparing not a second, he thrust his arm upward, his grappling hook firing into the rooftop and zipping him away as rounds of gunfire ate into the bannister where he'd stood just moments before. As he flew upward, his arm reached toward the grenades he kept at his belt, whipping them at several targets beneath. They glided along, rolling to stops at the feet of several attackers before detonating with a thunderous roar of sound, the subdued lighting of the building suddenly flaring with an intense rush. Flashbang grenades were rarely pleasant, and the men bellow fell to their knees, hands pawing at their ears and their eyes as they sat, stunned.

Batman's arc took him to the opposite side of the building, his arm firing out and launching a series of Batarangs that crossed the walkway on his left, men falling to the ground as the small weapon dug into the tendons and soft tissues of their legs. His eyes were moving, searching. Sionis' office was undoubtedly here, on the top floor. But where?

His eyes shot up as laughter suddenly filled the area, a man emerging from the opposite side of the building. Separated by the emptiness that carved up the walkways, he was far too distant to attack immediately. Still, Bruce recognized him. His face was an ebony black mask with a malicious grin, those long exposed teeth so much like a skull, his body clad in an impeccable suit over which he wore a brown trenchcoat. Bruce could see the clips of bullets strapped along his chest, two silver plated M1911 pistols trapped at his waist. It wasn't those that had his attention, though. As Mask continued to bellow across the chasm, his laughter unceasing, his pulled his arm from behind his back and into view. A large, slightly bulky weapon flipped up and onto his shoulder, a large round loaded into the front of the barrel. Batman's eyes flew open.

"RPG!" he whispered to himself as he began to dash away, the servos in his boots responding to his urgency and accelerating him at speeds nearly inhuman. As he rushed down the walkway, a spiraling trail of smoke erupted from the opposite side of the large building, a glowing light flaring out through the space between as the rocket propelled grenade crossed the distance between them. A thundering roar echoed through the chasm as the explosive struck the walkway, the floor beneath Batman's feet suddenly bucking him upward, shuddering and groaning as a red plume of fire burst out of the wall of the building. A massive gap opened up in the floor, men bellow diving to the ground as pieces of the walls and walkway descended below, ignited pieces of concrete and sharp blades of steel scattering away. Batman felt as the ground beneath him grunted once more as it buckled, his feet carrying him forward as a second grenade impacted the wall beneath him. This time the floor in front of him went skyward in a ball of fire, tossing him backward, the digital vision in his helmet's lenses flaring as they adjusted for the sudden increase in luminance. Batman hit the ground hard, trying to push off the ground but unable to propel off, his body suddenly catapulting into free fall as the floor gave way. The entire section of the wall gave way, the walkway falling with is, as Black Mask threatened to tear apart the entire structure in his quest to kill the Bat.

Bruce plummeted to the distant ground for a few, long seconds before he thrust his arm outward, the grappling hook in his arm firing outward and clamping into a random wall. The line jerked taut with such force that, had he not been in his new armor, he would have wretched his shoulder from its socket. Still, sheer physics brought him flying back inward, toward the walls of the building in a large, arcing swing. The hook detached rapidly collapsing back into its sleeve as he flew into the nearest wall, his armored body exploding through it and into an empty office, his body tumbling along as he ground to a halt.

"Getting tired of this," he grunted, quickly pushing off the floor and onto his feet as he sucked in a deep breath. His body ached. No matter how much the suit was working to absorb the shock, there was little way for it to compensate for him swinging through the wall at high velocity, and twinges in his back flared. Old wounds, made new. He didn't think much of it as he walked back outward, onto the walkway. He was five or six floors down, and new rounds of gunfire were spattering the air as men got their bearings again, the few of them on stable ground now targeting him. Many had, unfortunately, plummeted below as Black Mask had continued to pelt the walls with fire, while others had undoubtedly been caught by shrapnel and debris. "This ends now," he said, teeth grit as he thrust his arm outward, the grapple flying toward the highest reaches of the building. His body soared along, lines of bullet fire chasing him as he escalated upward through the middle of the facility, his targeted vision identifying Black Mask's figure on the walkway above, still lingering.

Batman burst upward to the highest level and continued upward to the concrete ceiling far above, where a gargantuan chandelier acted as the centerpiece of the building. He heard as another rocket pursued him, streaking toward the roof, but Batman turned his body and arced away, circling around the chandelier for just a second before detaching the grapple. He vanished in the large decoration's light, hidden by its grand glow for all of a moment before he came arcing back downward to the topmost walkway. At his rear the rooftop detonated with such force that he felt the tremor in his body, the force of the glass and concrete tearing at his body, ricocheting against his armored form. Black Mask screamed as Batman descended in a cloud of fire, light and melting steel, the Dark Knight's body crashing into the criminal and driving the two of them through the wall and into Mask's office. Plaster and wood splintered into thousands of pieces as they came sliding to a stop, Sionis' hands going toward his pistols. Bruce slammed downward with his fist, the mechanized gauntlets slamming onto the Mask's fingers and smashing them, Mask's mouth contorting as he screamed in pain.

"You freak!" he screamed, suddenly grasping at his wrist, his fingers trembling as he held his hand outward. "You broke my fingers."

"Deal with it," Batman shot back as he got to his feet, hauling Mask upward and throwing him back, the man's body striking the rear wall as burning fire continued to rain downward in the background, Batman's silhouette framed against black smoke and orange flame. "Because I'm about to break a lot more than your hand if you don't call off your men."

Mask grunted, lashing out with his good fist, but Batman casually slide aside as it sailed through thin air. Bruce brought his hand up with a blow that crushed into the bottom of Mask's jaw, sending the desperate criminal flailing through the air and onto the ground once more. Before he could move, Batman had him at the collar, turning him about and slamming him onto the top of his sturdy oak desk. Sionis screamed as he was driven onto its surface, clutching at his back as he did.

"What the hell is your problem?" he grunted, gasping for air. "Thought you had some sort of code you went by, Bats."

"That's why you're not dead, Mask," Bruce replied, teeth clenched, his eyes flaring with menace. "But this doesn't end until you tell your men to stop making Old Gotham into a war zone. You get out of Penguin's and Great White's territory. You stop hurting innocent police officers. You stop putting lives on the line."

"Or what, Batman?" Black Mask asked, grinning, even as he continued to pant for air. "What are you going to do to me if I don't? You're not going to kill me. I think we both know that."

Bruce did not hesitate as he quickly grabbed Black Mask's good hand, his fingers wrapping tightly around the man's wrist. "These gauntlets are good for more than just holding tight to walls," he said, his fingers squeezing downward, slightly at first and then increasing in pressure. Mask suddenly howled as the pain surged through his arm, arcing along his elbow and into his shoulder. "Any more pressure and I'll break every bone in this arm."

"Fine, fine!" he screamed, he shouted. "Just let go! I can't get the damn radio if you break my hand!"

Batman grunted as he tossed Mask's hand aside, the defeated criminal huffing as he reached to his belt. Bruce watched him carefully, making sure he wasn't reaching for a gun, but was satisfied as he saw Mask remove a small radio from his waist. Sionis paused, glancing at Bruce. "Why me, Bats? Why not Penguin, or Great White. You seem to know enough about what's going on."

"Because you started this, Mask."

"Me?" His eyes flared. "How did I start this?"

"I know enough about what's going on with the mob right now to know you needed an excuse to go to war. That's why you blew up your own chemical lab."

Mask paused, chuckling. "That's what you think? That I blew the lab up?" He laughed again, setting the radio on his chest. "Not going to lie to ya, Bats. You're right. Mob's back in town. Lew Moxon's been stirring up trouble. They've got all sorts of money they're bringing in from overseas." His finger lifted, pointing upward. "As my witness, though, I didn't blow that place up. Might be a criminal, some might even say I'm crazy, but I'm a businessman first. I know what makes me my money, and I know better than to wipe out a lucrative business like that. You don't fight money by ruining your own business, Batman. I needed that place. I need as much money as I can get to fight back against these old men trying to take back what they couldn't hold onto."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "So you didn't start this."

"God's truth," he said, still grinning. "Now just to be fair, you're going to go after those two, right? After all, had to be one of them that blew up the place. Seems only right."

"I was going after them whether they'd started it or not. Don't pretend like you didn't know that."

Black Mask chuckled a final time, raising the radio upward to his ear and flipping the signal. "Attention, all False Face Society members. Withdraw. Let those bastards have their territory."

There was a pause on the other end before a voice came back. _"What's that, sir?"_

"You heard me. Everyone back into our zone. Leave them to the Bat. Got it?"

A screeching echo erupted over the radio, causing both Batman and Black Mask to grimace as it pierced their ears. Suddenly a new voice came through, cultured, distinguished, an accent on it that was hard to make out but distorted by a modulator that changed the speaker's voice much the way that Batman used one.

_"Masks are best worn at Carnival and Guy Fawks Day."_

Sionis glanced at the radio, confused. "What the hell?"

Batman took a step toward him. "What's going on, Black Mask? Who was that?"

"You think I know? Some creep cutting in on my radio signal." He activated the radio once more. "Hey. Morons! Did you get my order?"

There was a pause before a man on the other end, speaking normally, responded. _"Sorry boss. No can do."_

Roman's eyes flared. "What did you just say?"

_"Sorry boss. We can't just let these guys move in on your turf. We've got work to do. You'll be proud of us, though."_

Black Mask looked genuinely stunned, his mouth gaping open as he stared at the device, then over at Bruce. "Batman, for Christ's sake you've got to believe me. You heard me give the order."

Bruce nodded, a finger going to his ear. "Oracle," he said, speaking as if Black Mask weren't even in the room. "Have any of the False Face Society broken away?"

_"Uh, not from what I can see or hear. Nothing on the radio or the overhead imagery we're getting."_

His eyes continued to burn into Sionis' skull. "These members of the False Face Society. How new are they?"

"You seen 'em. These ain't your typical goons running around on the streets. They're mercenaries, and they cost me a high price. Had to do it, with the way I was getting squeezed by everyone trying to move in on my turf."

"Fine, but how did you hire them? You don't exactly employ men like these by cruising down the streets of Gotham."

"I… that guy. The Broker. He set it all up. He's been expanding his business, doing more than the old usual. I got them through him."

Bruce's eyes flared. "I'll be back for you, Sionis," he growled, moving to the shattered window that opened onto the city night. It was a long drop, perfect for a short glide. As he leaned over the edge of the window sill, putting a leg up on its edge, he turned to glance just partially over his shoulder. "I'd suggest you get your business in order. If you go missing, I will find you." With that, he launched himself out the window, vanishing into the darkness. For a long moment Black Mask could only stand there, huffing, as he slid off the table and approached the window. His shattered hand throbbed in pain, and his body burned with the force of the impact that had driven him through the wall. As he watched the skyline of the old city that stretched out beyond the waterfront, he huffed. "How did everything get this out of control," he asked himself, cradling his head. "Damned men won't even listen to me when I'm the one that's supposed to be paying their checks."

The sound of crunching glass and shifting debris caught his attention, his eyes flashing backward, to the mostly destroyed entrance to his office. As he did, he caught the sight of a familiar figure, and his eyes flashed open. "You!" His hand flipped toward his gun, grasping for his pistol, matching the speed of the lone figure as it reached for its own weapon.

A single gunshot rang through the night, hidden beneath the sound of so many others.


	14. Author's Interlude

Just a friendly reminder, all. If you're enjoying Batman: Brave you might also enjoy Superman: Bold.

Also, I have an ebook on Amazon if you feel like supporting my writing endeavours as I continue trying to get published. It's called The Golden Anvil by Jason Luthor, so pick it up if you enjoy middle grade and young adult fantasy written not so much as epic as rousing, adventurous and magical.


	15. Chapter 13: Everyone Must Do Their Part

**Chapter 13**

_"Let me tell you a little something about this city. Now, this was, what? Ten, fifteen years ago? I was a rookie, fresh on the beat. I was naïve, a bit ignorant, so I didn't really get everything going on in Gotham at the time. No way I could have. Now, this was long before the big names started popping up, guys like Joker and the rest. This was an 'ordinary' investigation. So, we get to the place. Call say it's a homicide but not much details come through, and I'm riding with my partner, a senior guy named Bobby McKenzie. We show up to this house, in a quaint little neighborhood, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. I'm talking a white picket fence, rows of houses that all look like the others. This was just a suburb. Who'd want to kill anyone living out there? So, we head inside. Doesn't take long to find the first victim and, I'm telling you, he's a mess. Guy's had his guts ripped open, eviscerated. Blood's everywhere, entrails are just sitting on the ground. I think I nearly lost my lunch right then and there. As we're checking the area, we find a set of stairs leading beneath the house. Now, I know what you're thinking, that it's a typical basement. Right? At least, that's what I thought. We go down these stairs and we find the wife. She's as bad as he is, has had her head taken apart so bad you could barely make out her face. From what we gathered, it looked like she was trying to get down below, and get the doors locked before her attackers could get to her. At this point, we've got two victims on our hands, and both of them… my God. What a mess, and what a damned shame. Mind you, it's my first time on a scene remotely this bad, and I was shaking. Bobby had seen some stuff, but even he was a bit disturbed. I mean, you could smell the blood, like metal on your nostrils, and I'm just feeling terrible. I could barely take a step without my legs feeling like they were going to go out from under me, and just the thought of this happily married couple so completely brutalized… I couldn't help think about my own, Barbara. Just the thought… I'm telling you, I wanted to call her right then and there just to tell myself she was alive and happy. I had a job to do, though. This stuff had to get bagged and tagged, sent off for the boys in the lab to analyze. So I went down the stairs, and I couldn't tell you what I thought I was seeing at first. It's hard, especially if you've never been in a place like that, to really put it all together. But I'm telling you… God's truth, it was the damndest, most bizarre thing. I couldn't believe it at first. I'm looking at a room, and it looks like a child's room. You know, it's got toys, and a bed and some pictures. There's a toy chest, a backpack for school, just everything you'd ever expect from a kid's room, but in the basement. Then I keep going, and that's when I see the video cameras on the other end of the room. That's when I see hand cuffs. That's when I see the pliers, and the knives. Then the photos… filed away, alphabetically, in a small box."_

_Pausing_

_"Excuse me a minute."_

_Audio Missing_

_Sighing_

_"Goddamn pedophiles. Turns out later, this happily married couple in the suburbs were part of a massive sex ring from here to California, and they were maintaining their comfy life in the by peddling off videos of kids to anyone with the money. Later comes out that they started holding on some of their payments they owed to their connections here in Gotham, and when that happened, some heavies were sent in to take care of the missing payments. They also took care of the couple while they were at it. See, the problem in this city isn't super criminals, because there isn't anything the Joker's going to do that's worse than what I saw and learned on that case. This problem is a problem with people, with what's inside them, and Gotham seems to produce more of these sorts of people than almost anywhere else. I don't know what it is. I know it wasn't always like this, at least from what I remember, when they Wayne's were alive. So now we've got to keep trying. Got to do what it takes to make Gotham a city where good people can be safe, and not just from guys like Joker or even Falcone, but from people like that couple. We have to find a way to inspire people to be good, and that's a hell of a lot harder than just locking people in jail. That sort of change takes everyone doing something to make Gotham a better place."_

_- James Gordon_

R.J. watched with admiration as the woman known as Nightwing finished dispatching a few thugs that trailed far behind their companions, sending their crippled forms into piles that lay strewn across the street. As she did, she huffed, sucking in a deep breath as she took a moment to admire her work. Turning, she only slowly became aware that he'd emerged from the alleyway, and she quickly turned to face him.

"Back off kid," she warned him, raising a hand.

"Hey, I'm just here to help. My name's R.J. I saw what you were doing, but I didn't know if you'd need a hand. I've been out here all night trying to help people caught on the street."

"You should leave that to the professionals."

"Maybe, but there's not enough of them out here to save everyone."

She frowned. "Good point."

"Besides, I've already been doing my part. I really don't need anyone protecting me. Most of these guys don't know how to fight beyond throwing a slow punch or two, and I've already been handling my business." He raised the large wooden broom handle he's been carrying with him, spinning it in his hand before twirling it behind his back and thrusting it forward again. "I've got the moves, you know. Already did a stint with Batman tonight."

Nightwing laughed. "I find that really hard to believe."

"Seriously. Who do you think told him where to find Black Mask?" He thrust a thumb toward himself. "This guy."

"You know I can call him anytime I want and confirm this, right?"

"Go ahead." He crossed his arms, glaring at her smugly. "I'll wait if you want. I've got time."

"No, fine," she said with a shake of her head. "So what is it you want? I've got business to handle."

"Just thought I might be able to help. Two's better than one, after all."

"You've got to be kidding me. This isn't playtime, you know. It's dangerous out here. People can get hurt, and I don't care how good you are with that broom stick there, there's no way I'm going to be dragging around someone that has no training. Besides, let's be honest. You couldn't keep up. My bike's designed for one, and I'm not going to try and carry you on the back end of it just so you can play hero."

R.J. frowned. "I'm not just going to sit on the sidelines and do nothing. Either I help you, or I'm going out here on my own. I'm not going to wait around while people get hurt."

"Don't complicate my life…" She paused, gesturing for him to hold on. Nightwing turned aside, putting a hand to her ear. "Oracle? What's going on?"

_"Nightwing, I'm online here with Batman."_

Bruce's voice broke in over the signal. _"I got to Black Mask, but it looks like things have gotten out of his control. He claims he hired his mercs from The Broker. Catwoman said that whoever she met at Black Mask's office looked like the Broker, but she knew from certain details it was an imposter. So, Mask's been getting fooled. Not only did Broker set up the gang war breaking out right now, he provided Mask with the small army that's not even listening to him now. We have to track down The Broker, or whoever's impersonating him. He's most likely got Marco Vega and Delina Fiora as well."_

Nightwing paused. "Batman, Catwoman hasn't checked in for a while. Last thing she mentioned, she was going after some energy trail that was left at the scene at Fiora's house, but then she went dark. I thought she did it on purpose but I don't think she'd be gone so long."

_"Energy signature?" _

Oracle came through on the line once more. _"Yeah, sorry Bruce. You've been busy with Black Mask so I haven't had time to update you. Catwoman was following an energy trail she said she couldn't identify, something she picked up at Fiora's house. I've been running it through our satellites and think I might have at least two locations where the signals have been strongest."_

Batman huffed. _"Two signals. Two targets. Of course. Where are they?"_

_"The first is Bellagio Pavilion. The second is Ricco Hall."_

_"Which one is the strongest?"_

_"As of now, Ricco Hall."_

_"Fine. I'll head there. Nightwing, you've got the pavilion. Got it?"_

She nodded. "Bellagio Pavilion. I'm on my way."

_"Be in contact as soon as you find anything."_

With that she deactivated the comm, turning aside to R.J., who stood, impatiently, arms folded across his chest. "You realize you were saying all that out loud, right?"

"I don't exactly have a lot of luxuries for privacy right now, junior."

"So we're on our way to Bellagio Pavilion?"

She thrust a finger at him. "No. I'm on my way to the Pavilion, you're on your way home. Got it?"

"I'm going to go there whether you want me to or not. And if I see any fighting, or anyone that needs help, it's not like I'm going to void it. I'm going to be out here putting myself on the line whether you want to watch my back or not, but I'm not going home."

Her fingers went to her forehead, rubbing at it for a moment. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

She sighed. "I guess that's about how old I was, too." NIghtwing's shoulders dropped a second as she looked back, down the street. "Alright. Let's get to the bike. You can hold on from the back, but don't you dare let those hands wander anywhere."

His palms thrust upward, open. "Hey. Mom always raised me with respect."

* * *

Jim Gordon snatched the radio off the dashboard, growling into. "Gordon here. What's going on?"

_"Jim. You know who this is."_

Gordon put a palm to his head. "Batman. Guess I expected to hear from you eventually."

_"How are your men holding up?"_

"It's a mess. Disaster response around the chemical plant is terrible. Without support from New Gotham, we just don't have the manpower to clear the debris. Meanwhile we're trying to control the fighting between Black Mask's men and the surrounding areas, and we're doing a good enough job of getting people out of the area, but we just don't have enough feet on the ground. Not to mention, Mask's got some real heavy artillery out here."

_"Right. He's been bringing in mercenaries, buying up a lot of old military hardware on recommendations from the Broker."_

"Well whatever it is he's doing, it's leaving the waterfront a complete disaster. After tonight you won't be able to ship anything out of the old harbor anymore."

_"I think I've got a location on the real source of the fighting tonight. It looks like someone else has been behind Black Mask, orchestrating everything. I'm heading to Ricco Hall, in the old upper part of the east stretch. I have a feeling we might find either Marco Vega or Delina Fiora there, too. In either case, I'm not sure what we'll find, but I'm almost entirely sure that whoever's behind all this is waiting there."_

"Batman. We've rolled out our new team, the one we put together to help respond to threats like this. They're doing a pretty damn good job, if I might say so. We'll head to Ricco Hall and provide you backup. The least we can do is set up a perimeter and make sure nobody gets out of there."

_"I won't try to stop you. Just let me do my job."_

He shook his head. "Yeah. We won't interrupt you."

With that the signal switched off, and Jim quickly thrust his head out the door, glancing along the side of the truck. Harvey was leaning against the side of the vehicle, a lit cigarette burning in his hand. Gordon shook his head, waving into the truck. "Harvey! We've got a lead. Let's go end all this."

Bullock's head shot up as he took a long, final drag on his smoke. He tossed it aside, letting it roll into the sidewalk gutter. "It's about damned time."

* * *

Nightwing's motorcycle roared, its powerful engines sending the vehicle flashing forward. Her hands tightened on the grips, her head leaning into the wind that shot at her, cutting through it like an arrow. Wrapped tightly behind her was R.J., his broomstick awkwardly jammed down the back of his shirt and jutting high into the air above his head, the boy's hands clutching tightly around her waist as they powered through the streets of Old Gotham. As they passed through a final intersection, they emerged into a large, circular plaza. The street mad a giant circle through the area and broke off in different directions, while the center was occupied by a giant building, the old Bellagio Pavilion.

Once upon a time, the Pavilion had been one of the city's entertainment centers, a place where art shows were put on, concerts performed and the cultural life of Gotham had found its fullest expression. Now, like much of the rest of Old Gotham, it had fallen into disuse. Its exterior still appeared elegant, with Italian columns, large windows and sloped, tiled rooftops that reached upward out of the plaza area. It was several stories tall, and had at one time acted as a museum of rotating exhibits, so that each level had held treasures from a different part of the world.

As she pulled the bike to a stop, bringing it to a rest in the shadows of the alleys opening onto the plaza, Nightwing turned to R.J. "Stick close to me. No playing hero, got it?"

He nodded, awkwardly grabbing for the staff jammed down his back and pulling it out. For a moment he stretched, arcing his back as he loosened his muscles. "Yeah, no worries. I'm your soldier. You give the order, and I do it."

"Good." She shook her head as they dismounted the bike. "Now I know what Batman must have felt like when he was dragging me everywhere."

"Come on, it's not that bad. My sense of humor makes time go by faster."

She smirked. "Shut up." With that the two of them dashed forward, sprinting along in the darkness. Few lights burned here, with only an occasional electric lamp still providing any path forward through the night. Slivers of moonlight cut through the clouds and created a path, the two of them moving forward to the great doors that led into the interior of the building. As quietly as she could, Nightwing pressed forward on the door, cringing as its old hinges creaked, letting out an eerie noise that penetrated through the otherwise silent night.

The interior was a wide open space with hallways leading away on their left, right and straight ahead, and pair of stairs on either side of the large hall leading upward onto the second hall. Even now, in its long abandoned state, the floor still held its artistic appeal. It was done in a great tile work, artful and decorative, so that the face of an ancient Roman Caesar was illustrated in relief. A registry desk sat near the front, perhaps once used to greet guests but that now sat covered in a layer of dust.

R.J. whispered. "Creepy."

"Agreed. So let's get this guy and get out of here."

He nodded, following along as she crept forward, taking them past the desk and down the long hallway at the end of entry parlor. It was pitch dark, and a tap on a small device at her shoulder turned on a brilliantly powerful light that cut through the black and allowed them a way to progress. On either side of them were large display cases, some still with their old displays. Replicas of grand Egyptian sarcophagi sat on one side, while vases from ancient Greek cities lined the opposite end. As they pushed forward, a large sign greeted them overhead, with the words WORLD OF WONDERS plastered in elaborate cursive writing.

They emerged in a mammoth room. Towering over them, just to their right, was a gigantic, animatronic Tyrannosaurus Rex that loomed over the exhibit. The walkways were lined with great ferns and grass, while hanging from the rooftops were Pterodactyls. Their backs were attacked to lines on tracks, that had at one time guided the great birds around the rooms as if they were in flight. Jutting from the bushes were the heads of great Triceratops, some locked in combat with the great claws of Velociraptors. Meanwhile, at the center of the room, there was a great clearing. The grass and bushes gave way to a large, empty space filled with little more than dirt. As the light passed along the area, forms like men became visible, their shaggy faces and jutting brows the images of cavemen, used to decorate the center of the exhibit. Still, as the light passed about, it caught view of a single, seated figure. His clothing was loose and very casual, his head dropped forward, chin resting on his chest. The man's arms were obviously restrained behind the chair, his feet strapped to its legs as well.

"Marco Vega!" she exclaimed, moving forward quickly. The man grunted, responding to his name as she drew near, his fatigued eyes slowly moving to greet her as she neared him. He mumbled, so softly she was unable to hear what he was saying. "Just a moment, Mr. Vega," she said as she moved behind the chair. "I've got you."

As R.J. watched her move behind the subdued figure, his eyes suddenly exploded with an intense light that flooded the room. Suddenly everything in the room exploded to life, the overhead lights flooding the area and illuminating the pathways. The great T-Rex that overlooked the exhibit roared with a thunderous scream as the Pterodactyls overhead began to fly away, whipping across the ceiling. The trio of them glanced around, suddenly aware that figures were emerging from the foliage. They were all brutish looking, tall, muscular individuals dressed in finely pressed suits, some with kerchiefs tucked into their breast pockets, others wearing fitted, elegant hats. They encircled the clearing, pushing away the wax figures of cavemen, and cleared a path as a final figure emerged from hiding.

The man was tall, a half foot taller than Nightwing at least, with a broad frame draped in a beige suit and black tie. A white hat with a black band decorated his brown hair, which itself was streaked with threads of gray. As his eyes passed between the two of them, he casually took a cigar from his inner pocket, bringing out a golden lighter that he used to ignite its end. For a moment he lingered, taking a log drag from it before puffing out a thick cloud of smoke toward them. "Now who the hell are you?"

Nightwing instinctively crossed to R.J., protectively putting an arm across him. "Guess I could ask you the same thing. I've never seen you before."

"Well, it's been a while," he said, grinning. "So if you're new in town, I guess I'd understand why you wouldn't recognize me by my looks, but you should recognize the name. Lew Moxon, at your service."

She shook her head. "Nope. Sorry. I don't know who the hell you are."

That seemed to disturb him, and his hand dropped to his side, the cigar resting just near his hip. "Are you serious, kid? I'm Lex Moxon. At one point I was one of Carmine Falcone's greatest general, maybe the greatest. I ran the whole east stretch of Old Gotham. If you had anything to do with shipping or trade in this city, I was in charge of it. That's how Falcone got rich, you know. Wasn't the drugs or gun shipments. It was controlling the trade here in Gotham."

"I get it, and I recognize Falcone's name. Who doesn't, after all. You, though? I still have no idea who you are." She paused, grinning at him. "Nope. Never heard of you."

He growled, his teeth locking as he stared across at her. "Fine. This was never meant for you anyway, you little brat. Where the hell is the Batman?"

"Across town, taking care of some other business. Sorry to disappoint you but you're just going to have put up with me."

"I think that can be arranged," he said, waving to the men that surrounded them. "You know what to do."

They large group of suited thugs nodded, smiling as they closed in, a few pounding their fists into their palms in menacing gestures. Her eyes shot about, fists tightening as she braced for what was about to come. For a moment she looked back at R.J., hoping he was feeling up the challenge. Still, seeing him, he looked little bothered. He'd dropped into a defensive stance, bringing his staff upward, prepared to defend himself. He even seemed to be smiling a little.

_"Good," _she thought. _"I like when people can take care of themselves." _Without a further moment of hesitation, the men around them charged, their fists leading. She caught the sparkle of light on their fingers, realizing at the last minute that at least some of them were wearing brass knuckles, which could put a serious dent into her skull. Dodging the blow of one, she slid behind him, throwing her leg back and jamming the man's knee before she darted at another of the thugs. Her face whipped backward as a fist crossed the air toward her, leaning away from the blow before rising up with a strike that took him across the jaw.

At her back, R.J. parried a blow with his staff before angling the back end of it upward, cracking his attacker across the temple before whipping the long, wooden shaft downward. It slid along the ground before taking a man across the leg, sending him collapsing to the ground. The thug groveled in pain as R.J. back up, the circle of men constricting as they closed in on the pair. He thrust the staff into the head of one, turned quickly and brought in into the stomach of another, then jumped back as one man lunged at him. He slapped against the back of Nightwing, who grunted, looking over shoulder at him. They circle was tightening and, putting an arm beneath him, she thrust her arm upward. Her wrist flicked at her waist, snatching the grappling gun from her side and firing it upward, where the hook locked around one of the circling Pterodactyls. They were yanked out from the midst of the group, but after just a few moments of airtime she released the grapple, the two of them dropping just feet away from their attackers. Immediately she grabbed the taser gun she kept and fired off one, two then three roots. Each dug into the chests of the men closest to her, filling their bodies with bright electrical arcs of energy that sent them collapsing onto the ground in writing piles of pain. Only moments after they were disabled, she grabbed at the Eskrima sticks lashed to her side and charged forward, R.J. just behind her. He couldn't help but grin. Nightwing was armed to the teeth.

They dove into the crowd of remaining men, the two bashing away at them, R.J. swinging his staff wide and taking down those on the left while Nightwing danced between the few on the right, the twin sticks in her hands crippling men as she caught them with direct blows to the ribs, more strikes to the head and blows that took their kneecaps from underneath them. With the final few cleared, her eyes flashed around the room, searching for Moxon.

"Over here!" the criminal shouted from the doorway to the hall, hefting upward a heavy rifle, holding the front end in one hand and balancing the rear one with his other. A chain of bullets wrapped away from the machine and into a box loaded onto his back, and he grinned with a sadistic pleasure as he squeezed down on the trigger, a rainstorm of gun fire erupting from the barrel as he filled the air with lead. Nightwing and R.J. dove aside, tumbling into the bushes as the gunfire erupted just briefly, long enough for Moxon to jam downward on the control panel at the side of the doorway. A loose security gate dropped from the entry, shutting them off from the hallway leading outward, Moxon's obnoxious grin staring at them through the gaps in the chains. "Hey, how do you like these apples?" he asked as he shoved a digital clock against the chains, its display reading 5:00 in bright, red numbers. "That's how long you've got until the detonators on the building's support columns go sky high. That's all the firepower I need to bring this whole place tumbling down. Hope you had fun storming the castle," he said as he dashed away, vanishing into the darkness.

Nightwing's eyes shot open as she tossed a blade at R.J., who nearly fumbled it as it came toward him. "You cut Vega free," she demanded as she crossed the grounds to the gate, glancing at the control panel on the side. "And get those men on their feet!"

He nodded, quickly slicing through the rope and leaving Vega's hands free. The man, now quite aware of what was going on, was breathing heavily. R.J. tucked the blade into his hand and nodded to the ropes at his feet, which Vega immediately began to slice into, while R.J. started going between the men and getting them back up, his warnings of the barn quite effective at getting them to comply. Meanwhile, Nightwing was finishing her assessment of the control panel. Moxon had damaged the controls from the outside and she had no means of knowing the code for decrypting the gate, but it was a simple enough, crank operated gate. She simply didn't have access to the crank. What she did have was a grapple gun with an efficient crank for drawing in a cable line, and she fired it upward, watching it sky to the roof and dig itself into the above ceiling. Moving fast, she secured it to the lowest links in the gate, locking its clamp onward and activating its pulley.

With a whirring the gate began to yank upward, slowly grinding upward and off the ground until there was just enough room for her to get her fingers beneath. Her frame squatted low to the ground, her muscles straining as she lifted upward, hauling the gate upward with as much force as she could generate. It slowly raised further, the pulley mechanism on the gun whining as she exerted as much force as she could to raise it. R.J. rushed to her side, locking his fingers underneath and joining in the effort, the two of them breathing heavily as they flexed, yanking at the gateway until there was enough room for the men to escape. Panicking, the thugs began to stream for the doorway, pushing at one another as they fought for first dibs, rolling beneath the gate and rushing down the hallway. Marco Vega found himself among them, struggling beneath the gate and limply trying to help the two of them keep the door upright. With the last of the men gone, Nightwing nodded to R.J.

"Your turn."

"Ladies first."

She growled, her voice pitching low and menacing. "I'm not playing with you. Go!"

He swallowed hard, nodding and shaking his head as he dove beneath the gate, rolling through to the other side. His eyes caught sight of the timer as he did, noting that there was less than a minute left. As he came through the other end, he quickly turned to grab the gate, struggling alongside Marco to keep it up. "Come on! Get the hell out of there!" he screamed.

"Yeah, coming," she said as she released her grip on the gate. When she did, R.J. felt the sudden increase of weight on his end. She'd been holding up a lot more than he'd though, and he suddenly found his arms searing with indescribable pain as he struggled to maintain the gate. He groaned aloud, arcing backward and feeling every muscle in his back shaking as she rolled through to the other end, shouting in relief as he released the gate. For just a moment the grapple gun held it aloft before the cable snapped in a spark of light, the cable whipping upward and into the darkness and leaving the trio free.

"Thirty seconds!" she shouted, motioning toward the two of them. In full sprint they began to rush down the long corridor, though Nightwing kept an ever constant eye on Marco, remaining at the rear of the group to make sure both of them got out. As R.J. rushed along, he didn't notice the exhausted Mr. Vega stumble, and Nightwing grabbed at him as he faltered along the ground. His knees hadn't hit ground before her arm had wrapped along his back, hauling him back upward and forcing him forward. The man gasped with exhaustion as she forced him the final few feet, moving out into the entry parlor. As they did, the first, thundering explosions began to ring out through the building, a thunderous vibration rolling along the ground and vibrating in their feet. As she looked either way, down the halls that streaked away from the entry, she could see the plumes of red and orange fire igniting in the distance. "Move, Mr. Vega!" she demanded, pushing him with every inch of strength she had. He grunted, nodding, the two of them pushing forward and stumbling out the door.

R.J. had only then noticed the two of them struggling and rushed back, moving to the opposite side of Vega and tucking his arm around the man. Together the three of them stumbled forward and out onto the street, the building behind them suddenly shuddering as their feet took them step by step away from its entry. The rooftop of the grand Bellagio began to collapse in on itself, stone and tile crumbling away and spilling to the ground, clouds of dust and debris ushering out into the plaza as the building began to cave, like a vortex opening up in the center of it. Windows blew out in shards of glass as fire blew out from the hallways, the trio falling face forward as a final blast erupted from the building, sending them to the ground beneath a layer of ashy grey film.

For a long moment her ears were filled with a ringing, the sight in front of her eyes blurry, but she was grateful she was able to see at all. At first she tried to suck in some deep breaths, but she coughed immediately, gasping out puffs of ash that coated her tongue and filled the air. It took all her strength to get onto her feet but, once up, she was able to get a cleaner breath of air. She took quick notice of R.J. and Marco still struggling and, moving to them, she helped the pair of them to get back up.

Nightwing huffed, catching her breath, but she couldn't help and smile as she took the boy aside. "Not bad. You remind me of me just a few years ago. I didn't know if Batman hated or loved having me along for the rides sometimes, but I always knew when I'd pulled my weight. You just pulled your own."

He chuckled, leaning forward, exhausted, his hands resting on his knees a moment before he stood upright. "Thanks. Though you did most of the hard work. You're a one man army."

"Well, that's what training with the Bat will get you. So you said your name's R.J., huh?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Full name's Richard John Greyson, but let's just stick to R.J. And please don't call me Dick, I hate that name."

She laughed. "You got it. Though with the way you perform, you might need a code name of your own soon enough."


	16. Chapter 14: 10 Minutes Until Midnight

**Chapter 14**

_"Nobody's ever going to really know what happened to Bruce's parents. It's been so covered up in lies, in police corruption… no matter how deep you dig, it's impossible to sort out the truth. Lois and I have gone out to Gotham a few times, not that Bruce wanted us to, but I felt I owed it to him. Felt it might help if we could really know for certain who ordered the kill. To this day, though, it's impossible to sort out what happened. Did Lew Moxon order the hit? Did Falcone know? There's this thing that happens in investigations sometimes, where the clues are so strong, the evidence so amazing, that it seems like a setup. Joe Chill pulled the trigger, but it was a set up. Who put the gun in Chill's hand is the big question. I'll tell you what I do know. Bruce has gone on to become one of the strongest willed men I have ever met. You talk about the men in this world that will do anything to accomplish their goals… Well, we've already got power hungry men like Lex Luthor out there. Let's be grateful there's a Bruce Wayne."_

_-Clark Kent_

Barbara's voice broke through over the comm system. _"Bruce. Are you alright?"_

"Yeah," he grunted, grimacing slightly as he did, his hands guiding the controls of the Batwing. "I've got a few bumps but I'll be fine."

_"I'm not so sure. Your suit's biometric feedback says you've got a few micro fractures developing, not to mention some really severe contusions all over your body. Your banged up pretty bad."_

"That does tend to happen when you fall several stories down and through a few walls," he replied, sounding amused. "Come on. You went through worse with me when you were Batwoman."

_"Maybe. I'm not second guessing you, it's just… your new suit is incredible with the sort of information it sends back. It's also scary, too, being able to see just how much abuse your body is taking."_

"Not even the shock absorbers in it could have soaked up the sort of damage Black Mask was dishing out."

She still sounded concerned. _"So you're absolutely sure you're okay?"_

"I'll be fine. Tell me what's going on with Nightwing. Did she get to her target?"

_"Yeah. You might be interested in knowing that kid R.J. tagged along with her."_

His voice dropped an octave, growling. "What? What was she thinking?"

_"I don't know Bruce, what were you thinking when you started taking me along? What were you thinking when you started training Natalie to be Nightwing? She wasn't much older at the time."_

"I never took any of you out on a night like this, not for your first case."

_"Well, he was apparently pretty insistent. They're fine, anyway, and they got to the target."_

"Let me guess. It was Marco Vega."

She paused. _"You really are the world's greatest detective. How'd you figure that out?"_

"Just a hunch. Somebody stands to benefit from all the destruction happening on the water front. Between Vega and Fiora, she's the one with the longest ties and deepest pockets. It's too early to say what's going on, but with the waterfront shipping being taken apart tonight, and New Gotham's two biggest faces in the new trade industry going missing, somebody is planning to benefit from the shift. Someone's going to have to run the shipping industry, and after tonight it's not going to be Penguin, Black Mask or Great White. That leaves someone else, and Fiora happens to be the most valuable target in Gotham tonight. If I were gambling, I'd bet that the Family has come back to Gotham to take back what was once theirs."

_"Batman. Nightwing said that Lew Moxon was at the Bellagio Pavillion, and that he nearly killed them all when he blew it to the ground. We've been saying all night that Moxon's got his hand in this somehow."_

"Right. Time to put the final piece of the puzzle together."

_"I'd tell you to be careful but I'm not sure you'd listen."_

He allowed himself a smile. "Barbara. You know I only act as if I don't listen."

_"World's greatest detective. World's greatest actor. That's nice."_

He pulled back on the controls, the Batwing coming to a hovering position far overhead of the Ricco Hall. For a moment he circled it, slowly gliding downward until he was nearing the ground, the flash of a police vehicle already at the scene. His scanners flashed between the armored men, quickly displaying their equipment. Their tech was good, no doubt about that, a blend of Luthor Corp technology and Wayne Enterprise hardware too, not too different from his own suit. Of course, his was much more advanced, but theirs was nothing to sniff at. Properly drilled, men like that had been handling super powered villains in Metropolis for years.

A screech over his comm caused him to wince as a familiar voice broke through. _"Batman. That you?"_

He frowned, placing a hand to his ear. "Jim. Good to see you already here."

_"I've got men patrolling the exterior on foot while me and Harvey man the truck here. You getting ready to move in?"_

"Yes. Delina Fiora's inside, and Catwoman might be as well. My first priority is getting them out. Hold back on moving your men inside until after the hostages are secured."

_"Batman, come on. We've been working for how long now?"_

He grinned. "Been a decade by now."

_"Right. So give me some credit, alright? I'm the one wearing the badge."_

Batman was about to respond when a third voice broke over the signal, modulated and accented, so much like the voice he'd heard when confronting Black Mask. _"Bats were never meant to play with toys."_

Jim's voice broke through again. _"What the hell was that?"_

Bruce didn't have time to respond before the back end of his vehicle suddenly veered hard upward, a screeching noise penetrating the cabin as the rear erupted in smoke, a display of his vehicle's structural integrity popping up on the display. Red highlights flickered over the back end of the outline as the aircraft started to stutter, its hover system suddenly giving out in spurts that caused the vehicle to drop and rise in shaky intervals. Batman grabbed hard at the controls, fighting to pull the vehicle up as another spatter of rifle fire shook the cabin, the world around him starting to spin as the aircraft dropped rapidly, turning in rapid circles as flame and smoke spewed from across its body. Batman grimaced as he fought against the force of gravity that pinned him to his chair, his hands aching as he urged the vehicle to rise. The world was quickly rushing at him and he pulled hard on an emergency lever at his side, the glass canopy of the vehicle bursting off of the Batwing and into the air. He gripped the sides of his chair hard, his fingers clenching down tightly as a bright flame ignited from beneath his seat. For a long, brief moment he had a naked view of the city before him, which spun in rapid circles, dots of lights in the distance passing in front of his eyes over and over. Then, his chair erupted upwards in a bright blaze of fire as his vehicle continued to plummet in fiery circles toward the concrete plaza beneath. As it twisted and turned, like an animal in its death throes, it struck the ground in a ball of flame that spewed upwards into the skies, eating up the darkness. Meanwhile, far above, Batman felt the ejection chair reach its peak and quickly unlatched the harness around him, descending forward as blasts of energy passed all around him, cutting into the night and chasing him as he descended forward in a rapid glide.

Beneath him he could see Jim's team as they converged, firing in concentrated bursts at his position. The moments between rifle shots and impact was near instantaneous, and he felt the first strike soak into his armor, the second cutting into his cape. The air holding him upward suddenly passed neatly through the gaps in the cloak and the buoyancy of the winds escaped him, leaving him in a partial free fall. He growled as he arced upward, using the remaining air lift he was getting to glide for a nearby rooftop, which came at him with incredible speed. In the next instant he struck in hard, coming down on his shoulder and rolling to a stop, the lenses in his eyes flaring as the energy surge from the shock absorbers passed through his armor systems. He came to a halt, sucking air hard as he forced himself upward, growling as a new pain surged through his left shoulder.

_"Bruce!" _Oracle's voice came through his ear piece. _"What the hell is going on? Your suit's systems are going nuts and… I think your shoulder's dislocated."_

He nodded, taking a knee, his hand going to his shoulder. "Yeah, I can feel it. Whoever's got control of Black Mask's mercenaries has control of Jim's new team, too."

_"You know dad would never order them to attack you."_

"I know, Barbara, but someone's got them somehow." He grit his teeth as he jammed at his armor, unable to shift it. "I can't fix my shoulder, the armor's too sturdy for me to move the bone. I'm going to need you to use the armor's controls and force it back into position so my arm will relocate."

_"Bruce, what the hell?"_

"No time to argue," he grunted, his ears picking up on movement beneath the building. "Jim's team is already here. If I don't move, they're going to get to me, and that's going to leave Selina and Fiora inside of Ricco Hall. Whoever's behind this, they've been planning. I need to get on the move."

_"Damn it Bruce," _she complained, sounding deeply worried. _"This is going to hurt."_

"I know."

He grimaced as the servos on the armor began to whir, going into motion as the mechanisms in the shoulder piece began to readjust, moving back into place. Slowly it began to slide into position, carrying his arm with it. As he felt the tendons stretching and crying out, he bowed his head, sucking in a deep breath as the arm slowly began to maneuver into position. For a long, agonizing minute the armor slid back into place, an audible pop in his bone suddenly forcing him to look upward, his teeth grit as he stared at the moon.

_"Just hang on a minute longer, Bruce."_

He said nothing as the shoulder piece slid down and forward just a bit further, the armor piece leaning forward so that his arm passed in front of his body. In one last, grueling moment he felt as the arm came back into place, his breath escaping him in a heavy huff. He could feel a surge in his body, the adrenaline sweeping through him as he got to his feet, walking to edge, his fists clenching as he did. Even with his arm injured, the mechanized armor would allow him to deliver powerful strikes. As he looked down, on the group of armored officers now creeping around the building, looking for a way in, he was tempted to take his vengeance on them. Still, there was no way to know what influence they were under. His better senses came to him as he exerted control over his emotions. Fighting these men would waste his energy. His real target was inside Ricco Hall, and there was no way to tell if the officers were in control of their own actions.

It wasn't easy, but he forced himself to walk away, to the other end of the building facing onto Ricco Hall. He could see the Batwing burning on the streets. "Down to just one Batwing now, Barbara," he quipped.

_"Lucius is going to have a hell of a time justifying building two Batwings. That's almost a billion dollars, Bruce."_

"Tell him to take it out of my private account," he joked as he took a knee, loading a device to the concrete floor beneath him. Squeezing a trigger, a hook jammed downward through the floor, another one flying forward to the towering Ricco Hall. Its distant end punched through some random wall, all he needed to grab hold of the latch on the device. The round technological marvel was a Line Launcher, technically another tool Wayne Enterprises had made for the U.S. Army but one Batman had taken a fondness to. With a press of the button, the device began to whir upward on the angle of the cable, Batman's body trailing behind it as it flew to the topmost levels of the building. That wasn't his goal, however. The energy trails they'd been tracking were strongest on the lower levels and, as he reached the apex of his ascent, he let go. He enjoyed using the cape to glide, but he'd never trained himself to need such a tool, and his greatest tool, his mind, computed the moment to release and the angle at which to fall. His body streaked toward a window lower on the ground, his frame crashing through with a loud shattering noise, bits of glass and splinters of wood bursting into the room. As he rolled forward and onto his feet, he was almost immediately surrounded by men, suited and well dressed, with ties and elegant kerchiefs in their pockets.

"Funny how the hired help always dresses the way their bosses do," he said to himself as the first darted at him. He had no qualms about fighting Mob goons and he was, frankly, tired. He took the man's arm, leaned low and threw the man over his shoulder, sending the mobster into a pack of his friends. Immediately he turned, cracking a man's face with his armored glove, the thug's nose fracturing upon impact in a cloud of blood that lingered in the air as he moved to his next target. Batman didn't wait for this one to move and feigned with a punch. The thug ducked away and Batman caught him with a kick that swiftly clobbered him in the upper right abdomen. Bruce could feel the tip of his toe connecting directly with the man's liver, the goon howling in pained surprise as his body convulsed. He'd be fine, but he'd have trouble using the bathroom for a week.

One man suddenly jumped at Bruce from behind, wrapping his arms around him, but Batman simply fell to a sitting position on the ground, slipping out of the man's grasp. He quickly turned and wrapped his arms around the man's legs, lifting upward and sending the thug sprawling to the ground. Batman pounced on him, delivering a quick blow to the man's temple that immediately knocked him unconscious. Then, with only two more men left, he crossed the distance in a quick sprint, leaping upward and kicking one across the face, the goon's body flying backward in a dramatic, comic like flight that sent him crashing into the walls. Bruce quickly turned from his crouched position, pounced, and cracked into the mid section of his last opponent, bringing the man to the ground before finishing him with a final, devastating blow to the face.

_"Having fun?" _Barabara asked over the comm.

He smiled, stretching his neck as he cracked his knuckles. "You have to love your job."

_"Just don't get too gung ho out there."_

"Do I ever?"

_"Guess you're right. You know, even when we were working together, when you were barely Batman yourself, you always stressed how important it was to remain in control of yourself. Guess that's a lesson you never forgot."_

"It's the most important lesson. Your instincts can betray you," he said as he walked out of the room, passing quickly down unlit halls, his night vision illuminating the way forward as he found himself to a set of main stairs that descended into the grand entry parlor of the hall. He had no time to admire the architecture and simply continued onward, passing down and through the main doors, his feet passing quickly over the carpet, his cape, though tattered, still creating an intimidating cloak that billowed around him as he passed down the halls and into an area identified as the Smoking Room.

As he stepped within, he was greeted with a room of tables circling the empty interior, a stage opposite of where he was standing. There, two women were tied to chairs. One was Delina Fiora, who he recognized from media reports and newspaper clippings. She was older than Bruce but not by too much, and looked dazed and hurt. Her head dipped low, her hair covering her eyes, and she was set far to the rear of the stage, nearly in the shadows. Still, she may have been the target, but it wasn't her that caught his attention. His instincts moved his gaze to Catwoman, who looked bruised and beaten, her clothing in tatters. His ears listened for any sign of movement, his eyes scanning the room but, seeing nothing, he cautiously moved across to the stage.

"Batman," Catwoman mumbled, her voice sounding groggy and weak. Quickly he dropped behind her, the blades on his gauntlets cutting through the rope.

"I'm here. It's alright," he comforted her, helping her to her feet as he did. She nearly fell into his arms, and he held her upright a moment, bracing her. "I need to get Fiora."

"I know," she said, nodding, leaning her head into his chest. "Just one thing."

"What's that?"

"I think you've been tricked."

He glanced down at her, his eyes opening wide as her face suddenly contorted, melting away in a soft, gooey substance until her face became an absent, soft skull that howled at him with delight. Her arms and legs, clad in leather, changed into little more than sifting soft appendages that suddenly burst with mass and elevated him in their grasp, raising him upward and tossing him back onto the ground of the room, smashing him with enough force that he could feel a surge of pain run up his spine.

The creature howled in delight, its distorted, monstrous voice creaming as its vacant eyes leaned near to his. "Surprised, Batman?" the creature demanded.

"I knew I'd find you Clayface, I just didn't know when," he said with a scowl, his fists bracing as he struggled against the creature. "Who's employing you?"

"An actor never gives away the ending!" he proclaimed as he elevated, his claylike body engulfing Bruce up to his neck as his body surged in mass, clenching downward on the Bat's frame. As the creature's body constricted, he could feel the suit's armor straining, warning lights flashing in the lens displays before his eyes.

"You're… getting pretty good with your performance. I've got some new tricks too," he proclaimed, the suit suddenly surging with an electric current, arcs of blue energy surging outward and through Clayface's body. The creature roared as it struggled to hold on, the folds of its body suddenly whipping about in strands that flicked through the air as it contorted and lost cohesion of its form, dropping Batman as it collapsed downward into the wobbly figure of a man. Batman lost know time, launching forward and driving his fist directly into the creature's belly. His blow drove squarely into him, the beast simply gasping and laughing, a great, echo of a human voice that carried in the air.

"Can't hurt me that way, Batman," it growled as it struggled to regain a solid form.

"Really now?" he said as he leapt away, bits of clay trailing through the air as he did. For a moment, Clayface glanced downward, attempting to find any damage. Then, as they stood there, facing one another, a red glow began to emanate from the beast's belly. It was dull at first and then, as the seconds ticked by, it increased in its light until it was surging through the creature's torso. The soft, flowing folds of its body began to slow, halting and hardening as an intense heat surged through it.

"What have you done!?" it bellowed as it leaned forward, gasping at Batman, its body pitching into a fall as its hardened chest carried its weight. As he collapsed to the ground, Clayface's legs spluttered apart into soft, gelatinous masses behind it, while the beast's upper chest, arms and face careened forward. The greater bulk of its mass was a hardened piece of solid ceramic, and the beast pathetically cried, screaming with hate as it crept forward, crawling slowly toward Batman.

Bruce frowned, taking a step back as the exhausted Basil Karlo, once a famed actor turned into monstrous supervillain Clayface, struggled just to creep forward. He'd always felt bad about the way Karlo had turned out, saddened by the long fall from grace he'd taken from acclaimed actor to this creature. It hadn't entirely been his fault, the chemicals he'd used to attain the shapeshfting form initially a way of staying marketable in a Hollywood industry leaving him behind, but the tragic results had left him as little more than one of Gotham's many criminals.

"It's over, Basil," Batman said calmly, watching as the pitiful creature slowly crept along, gloopy hands stretching outward on the ground and dragging his frame forward. "You've lost. Now, tell me who's behind all this. I know you were acting as the Broker, right? You were the one impersonating him."

For a long, lingering moment, Basil seemed to realize he'd lost. Turning upward, his face, its features mixing and changing as they danced through a thousand faces, seemed to all hold some form of sorrow. Finally Clayface opened its mouth, bits of clay dripping and falling from its jaws. "I… Yeah Batman… I…"

A voice interrupted from above. "Nobody talks about Fight Club, pal," a familiar voice called out from the second level of the Smoking Room. Batman and Clayface both shot a look upward, where a menacing figure from the past stood, a massive gun poised over the banister, a hand hanging at his side. "And the Family doesn't take well to snitches."

Batman's teeth locked. "Lew Moxon."

"Good to see you again, Batman. You've been busy since you thought you got rid of me."

"Looks like you miss the inside of your prison cell."

"Not really Bats. Just cleaning up loose ends," he said with a grin, his hand launching upward, a small, round device hovering in the air for a second before it came tumbling down toward the center of the room. Bruce launched himself away, every servo in his boots propelling him aside and to the far end of the room as the explosive came to a halt, lingering for just a second in front of Clayface's eyes. The creature roared in surprise, its dripping jaws opening to protest as a massive explosion filled the room, tables tearing apart and chairs splintering as the grenade exploded. Traces of clay went splattering all around the area, splashing against the walls and soaking into what remained of the carpet, bits of it sinking beneath the floorboards.

Bruce felt the shockwave, felt as bits of shrapnel pummeled the hard armor shell he wore, but despite a new surge of pain working its way up through his legs and focusing at the base of his spine, he forced himself onto two legs. As he watched Moxon walk to the front of the second floor, to an area overlooking the stage, he caught sight of the mammoth barrels of the gun in his hand as they began to spin, warming up to fire off. Bruce forced himself into a sprint, a deadly hail of bullets filling up the ground behind him as he vaulted away, his hand flicking behind him as he launched off a flurry of Batarangs. They darted through the air, but Moxon hauled the gun upward, countering them with lead fury that cut through the overhead walkway. As he took his aim away, Batman quickly fired off his grapple line, the edge of it burrowing into to the roof above Moxon's head. His body soared upward into the air as Moxon slowly tried to haul the gun upward. While powerful, it was also incredibly heavy, and the gangster found it impossible to draw the barrels directly upward. His eyes shot into the air, panicked, as he saw the black silhouette of Batman's form reach its peak before plummeting downward, two steel clad boots colliding directly into the man's chest. The pair of them collapsed downward onto the ground of the walkway, the wood beneath splintering and sending the duo falling to the ground below. Moxon screamed as his body hit the wooden floor hard, his back springing off the floor like a ball, his gun scattering onto the ground. Batman, meanwhile, landed onto two feet. The shock absorption systems in his armor, taxed beyond all good reason, whined he hit the ground, the full shock of it running upward through his legs and vibrating into his bones. He winced as he stood up, walking to the gun and driving his boot downward, crushing it beneath his feet.

Moxon, prone on his back and gasping for air, was hurt but not incapacitated. Bruce moved to him, lowering a single hand and grabbing him around the collar before elevating him, the mechanized systems of his armor generating the power he needed until Moxon was held a full arm's length upward. Batman huffed, the lights in his lenses glowing red, his fist clenching until the collar around Moxon's neck was nearly choking him. The old criminal grasped desperately at Batman's wrist, fighting against him but unable to pry the strong fingers from his neck.

"Why, Moxon?" Batman demanded, his voice deep and snarling, the visible lines around his jaw stretched and worn. "Simple revenge? On a mission for the Mafia?" He waited as Moxon simply squirmed and struggled.

"Not getting' a word outta me, Batman, you asshole," he shouted back. Bruce growled, taking a step forward and driving the man into the wall, still held high. The impact broke the plaster, sending it in shattered pieces to the ground, Moxon's pained voice filling the air with a howl.

"Talk!"

A voice coughed lightly from behind, Batman's face going over his shoulder as he looked to the stage. A figure had emerged from behind the curtain, dressed heavily in armor from head to toe, not unlike Batman. Unlike Batman, his body was strapped with bullets around his shoulders and chest, and a lengthy sword hung from his back. He was an intimidating figure, at least as large as Bruce was, the two looking like high tech armored knights. Batman dropped Moxon, who whimpered, quickly crawling away and to the stage. He collapsed onto the stairs, panting and moping.

The stranger looked downward at Moxon. "Pathetic," he spoke in a strong, modulated voice before he glanced back upward at Batman. "You though, Batman. Impressive, I must say. Everything you've done tonight? Cleaning up the streets of Gotham, taking out a heavily armed Black Mask, not to mention all that you've done here between Clayface and Moxon." The man shook his head, raising his hands and applauding softly for a moment. "Really, I do so rarely give praise, but this is quite the impressive demonstration you've put on tonight."

Batman drew in a deep breath, summoning his energy, as he'd so long trained himself to do, even when pushed beyond the capacities of normal men. "So, is Moxon working for you, or are you working for Moxon?"

"Oh. Neither, really, but we're not quite at that point in the story just yet." He took a few steps forward, falling off the edge of the stage and onto the ground, landing gracefully. "It's coming, don't worry. It's just I have a contract to fulfill. I'm a man of my honor and my code. Then again, you seem to be a man of similar conviction."

"We're nothing alike."

The figure shook his head. "Spare me the melodramatic statements and quips, the hard one liners and the growls. I'm sure those work men like Black Mask but they certainly won't work on me."

Batman's eyes narrowed, his fists locking tightly. "And you are?"

The stranger crossed his arms, lowering his gaze just slightly and gazing through dreadful eyes that stared out from his mask. "I'm Deathstroke."


	17. Author's Question to the Audience

_**Are you ready for the exciting conclusion?**_


	18. Friday the 13th

**Friday the 13th.**

_The Conclusion of Batman: Brave. _


	19. Chapter 15: Measure of the Day

_"That man_ won't _quit_ as _long_ _as he_ _can_ _still draw a breath."_

_-Superman_

Nightwing's motorcycle roared through the streets of Gotham, flying forward with a speed she rarely pushed it to, the wheels bumping and sliding as she cut around corners and urged the vehicle over rises in the street, rocketing into the air for a few seconds before crashing back down onto the concrete. R.J. held tightly to her, his fingers interlocked around her waist and his chin tucked close to her shoulder, as she leaned forward into the wind and guided them through the darkness. Parked cars streaked by on every side, flickering lampposts burning in and out and dotting the black road ahead. It was incredibly late, an entire evening now spent trying to control the chaos in Old Gotham, and yet it was not over.

_"Hurry, Natalie," _Barbara's voice came through the comm, speaking into her ear.

"I'm going, Barb, I'm going," she huffed, gritting her teeth as she pulled left on the controls, the motorcycle drifting for a second before punching forward again. "Is he okay?"

_"As good as you can be after a night like this. No serious injuries, but he's pretty banged up."_

"And this guy… What'd you say his name was?"

_"Deathstroke. Normally I wouldn't be worried, but Bruce has taken a lot of abuse tonight, and after what we've seen happen at Vega and Fiora's places…"_

"Yeah, I know," she cut her off. "This guy's not playing around."

_"Right. And Nat, don't forget my dad's group. Something's not right with them."_

In the distance, the massive compound of Ricco Hall came into view, barreling at them in the distance, its front doors sitting across a stretch of multiple lanes. As they drew forward, a vehicle burst into the road, its topmost lights flashing as it did. She jerked the controls left, steering away and cutting across the front of the vehicle and rifle blasts began to fill the air, chasing the speedy bike with bright yellow bursts of energy that scorched the concrete behind her tires. She tightened on the throttle, squeezing every drop of speed from her ride as she barreled away from the cluster of armored guards filling the street. Ahead, two more sprung from the junction, passing out from the corner of the building and turning their weapons on her. Nightwing turned hard, the bike sliding and threatening to collapse as she veered off the opposite way, racing back toward the hall.

She hesitated just a moment, slowing just a bit as she angled toward the entrance. "Barbara. What about your day?"

_"Guards don't seem to be concerned about him, or Harvey. They seemed to be focused on you and Batman."_

"So I don't need to worry about rescuing him or anything?"

_"No… they're holed up in a nearby building, but they're safe."_

She grinned. "Guess I can get to work then." She forced the motorcycle forward in full speed, drifting again before yanking hard to her left, a stream of energy blasts passing just inches from the vehicle as it soared along the streets. Straightening it out, she cranked hard on the controls and rocketed onward, the open doors of the hall like an open set of jaws. They zoomed into the interior, the dim light outside fading to almost absolute black as she brought the machine into a controlled spin, the rear of the vehicle colliding and splintering with a few chairs that exploded on contact. R.J. squinted and dug into her back as the vehicle soared to a stop, facing the doors that led back onto the street for a long moment.

She shook her head. "They're not chasing."

"That's a bad thing?"

* * *

Batman's eyes narrowed as he took a step forward, the two combatants circling one another slowly, pacing around the room, each carefully eyeing the other. The man known as Deathstroke seemed anxious, almost giddy at the prospect of the fight, though every step was controlled and purposeful. He spoke from behind his orange and black mask, eyes lighting up. "So you figured out Clayface was impersonating the Broker. What else?"

"Not only did Clayface sell the territory to Penguin, Great White and Black Mask in such a way that he would put them at odds with each other, but he also supplied mercenaries and heavy equipment to Black Mask. That means this was planned for a while, and Clayface is a lot of things, but not a master criminal. Someone else was behind it, and there was no surprise to hear that the Mob was making its presence known in Old Gotham again, making my likely target Lew Moxon. This whole night's about the waterfront, the shipping industry. Eliminate as many of the players as possible, legal and illegal, and consolidate all of Gotham's shipping under one roof. With the way New Gotham is expanding, mainly due to that industry, it was only a matter of time before someone made a power grab for it all."

"Oh, you're good," the opposing figure commenting, a smile hidden behind his mask. "Though you're obviously missing just a piece or two."

"Whoever is behind all this planted someone in Black Mask's chemical storage facility. That was the spark that started the night, and the culprit had to be sophisticated enough to cause an explosion that took out a large part of the warehouses in Old Gotham. That took intelligence, someone familiar with an intimate familiarity with chemical compounds, and there are a number of likely suspects that could have done that here in Gotham. Two, once Black Mask ordered his men out, it became a Pyrrhic Victory at best. With the waterfront decimated by the explosion, not to mention the all out warfare between the gangs, most of the shipping industry on the east stretch is decimated. However, Mask had one chance to pull back his troops, except that when he made the call they refused to respond. The men that Clayface provided were triggered by a phrase, similar to what happened to Gordon's men, meaning someone was responsible for a hypnotic trigger. There are two men I know in Gotham capable of that level of mental manipulation. The first, Jervis Tetch, also known as the Mad Hatter, doesn't have the reach or influence to find himself in a place to deal with mercenaries and potential police officers. That leaves one other man, Hugo Strange." He stopped pacing, glaring at Deathstroke from across the space between them. "That puts Strange as the hypnotist, and Clay as the actor. You're obviously the muscle. All I need is the person who detonated the chemical facility, and the person that organized this whole night. Though if it wasn't Moxon, then it's somebody close to him."

Deathstroke placed his hands on his hips, nodding. "You know Batman, they really aren't exaggerating when they call you the world's greatest detective. I had to hear it for myself, you know. So often, everywhere I go, I get these stories. I keep hearing how amazingly brilliant or what an incredible combatant these people are throughout the world, then when I have a chance to observe them, they're actually quite mundane. Geniuses among idiots, maybe, but nothing exceptional. You though? You're the real deal. I must admit, observing everything you've done tonight, I've grown nothing but anxious to see if your brawn matches your brain."

Bruce took a half step backward, into a defensive stance. "Don't think just because I've had a long night that I'm going to just roll over now."

"Oh, I know you won't," Deathstroke growled as he took a step ahead, launching into a dash that was so quick that Batman barely had time to sidestep his lunge, twisting around to grab his attacker around the neck. Deathstroke continued forward with his own momentum, hands planting on the ground as he sailed forward, underneath Batman's grasp. His fingers touched lightly on the floor beneath, planting his body and carrying him into a spin. The orang armored figure made a full circle, his powerful legs sweeping backward at Bruce, who leapt backward, his hands planting on the ground and tossing his frame to the far side of the room in an elegant leap.

Deathstroke was quickly back on his feet, driving once again at Batman. "Just as I expected," he snarled, though there was a pleasure in it, his fist launching forward. "You really are good."

Bruce shifted slightly, the strike swinging into thin air. His hand thrust upward, catching the man's wrist, before using his free hand to lock him at the elbow, the mechanized grips applying pressure in a painful lock that held Deathstroke's arm at an awkward elbow. "You're overconfident."

"No, I'm not," he replied, amused. "Though now I see why you were able to weather the night so well. That's some impressive technology in those gloves of yours."

"I'll break your arm, Deathstroke."

"No, you won't." The man moved with an almost unnatural speed, his elbow bending, taking some of the pressure off Batman's grip, as he swung into the Dark Knight's body. His armored fist came upward with a blow that cracked into Bruce's side with thundering force, driving him backward, Batman's hands releasing from Deathstroke's arm as he soaked in the blow. As his body's momentum carried him back, toward the wall, he felt it nearly incomprehensible that the strike had been so powerful.

As he careened into the wall, leaning back on it as he stared at the opponent, he could only shake his head. "I've been hit by harder."

"Oh?"

"Just once, by a man you might know. Lex Luthor. Then again, Lex was using tech he designed specifically to go toe to toe with Superman."

"Guess that puts me into a special category," Deathstroke said, satisfied, as he slowly walked toward Bruce. "The serum I was enhanced with in the 60s almost killed me at first, but afterward, oh the lovely things I could do. I was always good at fighting, probably as good as you, but the procedure left me with a few extra bonuses that few men could dream of. I can think and fight at levels some would think superhuman. Then again, so can you. I already know how smart you are, and that suit your wearing gives you a little added punch. Not that it will help against me."

Batman's teeth locked, his body launching off the wall as he feigned a punch, directing his motion left. Deathstroke began to shift right, noticing Bruce's chance of attack and dodging the next blow that came. The Bat's right fist moved through open air as Deathstroke leaned back and away from the attack, but Bruce carried his leg upward with a knee that crunched into the man's side. The black and orange figure grunted as the cracking sound erupted in the air, his body tumbling to the ground for all of a split second. Even as Batman pressed forward, leaping at him, Deathstroke was spinning to face the Dark Knight once more. He brought his fist upward, swinging at Bruce's chin, who brought his armored gauntlets upward. Armored fist met armored arms, sparks erupting in the dim light as Deathstroke brought his right fist around and past Bruce's defenses, cracking him against the side of the head.

The lenses in Bruce's helmet flared, the world becoming an intense demonstration of light as a surge of power went through the helmet. He staggered sideways, arm stretching outward and bracing him as he crashed to the floor. Even as the helmet rebooted, his vision dark for a few moments, he could hear the heavy boots approaching.

"You see, they call me Deathstroke the Terminator," the voice said out of the darkness, a blow cracking down against the opposite side of Bruce's jaw, tossing his body one more to the ground. "I don't need armor to see and hear better. I don't need mechanized armor when my own fist will tear the door off an airplane." Bruce felt himself being yanked upward, held in mid air, before his eyes sparked to life, Deathstroke holding him an arm's length upward. "I barely age and I can heal from just about any wound, even those that would kill any other man. So let's get this straight, Batman. You better start fighting for your life if you want any chance of getting through me. You might need to hold back because you're scared of killing, but you won't escape here alive if you hold back in this fight." With that, Deathstroke turned, arm thrusting downward and driving Bruce into the ground with such force that the wood paneling beneath him splintered and cracked, a haze of dust rising up into the air.

Batman grabbed at his opponents hand, which was clutched around his neck, his strength surging as he forced the man's hand away. Deathstroke's eyes opened wide as Bruce outmuscled him. As the two wrestled with each other, Bruce brought his legs up, wrapped them around his opponent's waist, then swung his body forward with enough force that the top of his armored helmet cracked into Deathstroke's. The assassin reared back, granting Batman just the second's time he needed to get back onto his feet before launching forward. His fist crashed into the man's jaw, sending his orange covered figure stumbling a few steps back. Then, as Bruce launched forward, preparing his crushing blow, Deathstroke swiftly elevated his leg in a kick that landed directly beneath Batman's jaw. The Dark Knight went flying backward, collapsing onto the ground behind him, groaning as Deathstroke rubbed at his own forehead.

"I can take five hits for your every one," the assassin said, still sounding amused as he shook his head, squinting slightly. "Think you can win with that statistic?" Batman didn't respond, instead again trying to force himself off the floor. Before he had a chance, he felt another blow across his ribs, then another beneath his diaphragm and a final one to his jaw that sent him crumbling onto hands and knees. The dark figure loomed over him, fists clenching. "Still, you put up a real challenge, and after a tough night. I've got to give it to you, if it weren't for the fact that you don't know how to break character, you'd be a real tough one. All those years of discipline and restraint have taken the savageness out of you, though," he said as he brought his foot forward, delivering a solid kick to Batman's ribs that sent him sliding back and to the wall. "There's a time for it, but you've trained yourself to restrain your actions. Sometimes that can be your downfall. Today, for instance."

His hand went to his back, withdrawing the sword at his back, its long razor's edge ringing in the silence between the men. "You never stop learning lessons, you know. You get older, you become a better fighter, you learn when to give into your rage and when it's better to fall back on your training. Hell, Batman, I'm thirty years old than you. Took me a while to learn that lesson too. You won't get the chance, though."

He stood there a brief moment, elevating the blade above his head, its silver length catching the light as it reached its peak. "You're the first man to land that many hits on me in a long time, though. I hope you know I have nothing but the utmost respect for you."

Deathstroke's muscles tensed as he leaned into the blow, the sword arcing downward. It cut through the air, coming down at Batman's neck, when the blade was suddenly forced off at an awkward angle, a cable attached to two steel balls wrapping around it and carrying the sword from his hands. He glanced up, watching at the last moment as a lithe figure catapulted at him, her leg already in full extension as her boot struck him across the face. He growled as the blow caught him squarely across the side of the temple, rocking him, his body swinging to the side as another blow swung at him. The kick came at his midsection, but he caught it at the ankle, swinging the attacker aside and watching as she sailed through the air. He recognized her as Nightwing, a former compatriot of Batman, and he growled as he turned to face her. "Interrupting my fight? Bad move, Nightwing," he said with a low menace in his voice. He'd only begun to step toward her when he felt the large, solid staff suddenly jerk beneath his jaw, pulling tightly on his windpipe as a body hung from his back. He clawed at his new attacker, his fingers locking at the elbows of the figure trying to choke him out. Tossing himself forward, the unknown assailant was tossed over Deathstroke's back, carrying forward over the man's head and onto the ground. Without a second of hesitation, Deathstroke drove a fist downward, the dark skinned boy's nose releasing a cloud of blood as the strike connected with his face.

"R.J.!" Nightwing screamed as she pried herself off the ground, legs gaining strength as she charged. The assassin stepped back as she swung at him, his ears picking up on the sound of wood creaking behind him. He leaned to his side, dodging just as Batman's fist passed by, then sidestepped again as R.J. swung his staff toward his knees. Swiftly he ducked beneath the blow of one, then the next, parrying off one of Nightwing's attacks before ducking beneath one of the Dark Knight's, then simultaneously leaping away as R.J. thrust his weapon at him. The man conducted the battle like a dance, as he leaped and jumped among them, swiftly leaning aside and leaning into blows, taking the force out of them and then countering with one of this own. The weakened Batman he caught first, cracking the man beneath the jaw and sending him staggering backward. Deathstroke avoided Nightwing's kick at his knee, raising his leg upward and simply stepping over it before knocking her along the temple, her body spinning half away as he grabbed R.J.'s staff. He squinted, amused, as his fist cracked down on it. The wood split in two beneath the force of his grip, falling into pieces toward the ground.

"Was that a broom?" he asked, amused, as he brought his fists across both sides of R.J.'s temples, the boy crumpling to the ground before Deathstroke caught him in a single grip of his hand, fingers locking around his neck. "Time to die."

His face shot to the side as Nightwing launched herself at him in a final mad dash, her face alive with anger as she sailed through the air, a shuriken in hand. He closed the distance between them in a single lunge, dragging R.J.'s body weight as he caught her across the wrist just seconds before she could launch the weapon and holding her aloft, in the air above him. "You like this one don't you?" he said behind the mask, eyes narrow though with a hint of pleasure. "You get to see him die. That's the price for not being good enough."

"Go to hell!" she screamed, her fingers slipping and letting the shuriken fall. It passed just inches from his face, his eyes following it just in time to see her other hand catch it. In one single motion she brought the blade of the small weapon swinging upward, its sharpened razor's edge rising upward with all the force she could muster. Suddenly Deathstroke screamed as the weapon buried into his right eye, the man's grip on the two young fighters releasing as he suddenly lunged backward, feet shuffling off as his momentum carried him back to the wall, his fingers grasping desperately at his face. His face poured with blood, his eye all but destroyed by the weapon, which still jutted from his features. Nightwing stared, horrified, as the man took the weapon by its edge and yanked it from its place, screaming as he did, the blood on his face dripping to the floor as he gasped.

Batman's voice came from behind them. "He's got a regenerative healing factor," the Dark Knight growled as he lined up beside the two of them. "Don't let him use it."

The trio charged forward, rushing at the assassin who, suddenly, seemed to forget his pain. He straightened upward at the sound of their approach, his mask soaked in blood, his one good eye now alight with rage. "Come on then!" he shouted. "Let's see if you've got what it takes!"

* * *

Selina Kyle's vision came to in a darkened place cluttered with large paintings, posters, chairs and tables, all clumped together and laid on top of one another. As her vision began to clear, her eyes opening and adjusting to the darkness, she could make out a dim light just ahead of her, beyond what seemed to be a massive curtain. As her eyes searched the area around her, darting to the left and her right, she vaguely realized there was a body just feet in front of her. He was alive but apparently passed out, a well suited man with greying hair, dressed much like the old mobsters from the height of Falcone's rule. She shook her head, trying to get hear bearings, her ears perking up to the sound of battle from beyond the curtain. A sudden surge of adrenaline began to pass through her body as she heard Bruce's distinct voice calling out, and though one voice that responded was unknown to her, she could clearly make out Natalie's responses.

Her heart began to pound. They'd come for her and Fiora. Still, having seen what her attacker was capable of, she worried. Glancing about, she gauged her bonds. She'd been tied to a chair and abandoned to the rear of the stage, her hands bound behind the back of it, her feet strapped to its legs. She grinned slightly, bringing her hands closely together, her nimble fingers sliding under her glove and extracting a thin, razor sharp blade. Furiously she cut away at her restraints, her teeth grit as she listened to the sounds of the fight happening just beyond and eager to join her friends. With a sudden burst the ropes gave way, her hands exploding from the restraints and allowing her to quickly remove the knots at her legs. As she stood she waivered a moment, the blood returning to her feet and fingers, every muscle sore from the beating she'd taken earlier. Her neck felt so stiff she could have been a statue. Still, sucking in a deep breath, she summoned up her energy. "Time to for some payback you bastard," she said with a growl, her fingers flexing in their black leather clad gloves. "Let's do this, Selina."

Wasting no further time she exploded from behind the curtain, moving in full sprint to the forward part of the stage. Just as she'd thought, Batman, Nightwing and a strange boy were all locked in combat, thought the assassin seemed to be holding his own against all three of them. It took them all only a split second to register her appearance but, her kidnapper's back to the stage, she was well in mid leap before he'd even begun to turn to address her, his eyes flinching between an incoming blow from Nightwing as he tried to whip around in time. Still, Selina's gift had always been speed and, landing just inches away from him, she propelled herself upward with a bicycle kick that tossed that snapped the man's head backward with such force that he was rocked backwards.

Batman attempted to lock his arms beneath Deathstroke's neck, absorbing the appearance of Selina even as he grappled with his skilled foe. Immediately the Terminator fell to the ground, out of Bruce's arms and rolled away, bracing for a moment on the ground as his hand went to his boot and wrapped around a thin blade, which he launched forward with such speed that R.J. barely registered its approach before it sunk deep into shoulder, the young man collapsing to the ground with a scream as blood began to soak into his shirt.

Nightwing roared as she glanced at the young man a moment before launching forward, Deathstroke standing to meet her. She dodged a blow that soared at her head, passing along his side and driving her foot into his kneecap, forcing him halfway down onto a knee. Before he could react she'd whipped her Eskrima sticks from their place at her side, shouting louder as she cracked them down on the base of his skull and driving him fully onto his knees. As she raised them high to plunge them once again onto his skull, though, he suddenly turned aside and drove his elbow into the side of her own knee. With a scream she plunge downward and, as she did, he caught her by the wrist, holding her arm stiff as he brought up the flat of his palm with a blow so sharp that the sound of her arm breaking could be heard through the room. She crumbled to the ground as Deathstroke lifted himself, breathing heavily and finally tiring somewhat from the combined assault.

"Nightwing!" Batman growled, his head bowing and his eyes narrowing from behind his mask, his stance dropping low. "You've made your last move, Deathstroke."

Deathstroke reared up, arms hanging at side a moment as he shook his body, laughing. "Finally ready to really fight me?" he asked, chuckling, his face turning to Catwoman. "And you. Cat came out to play, did she?"

Selina braced herself, taking a defensive position. "You know what they say about a woman's scorn."

Deathstroke looked over at Nightwing, writhing on the floor. "Like her scorn?" he asked as swung his leg forward, his armored boot crushing into her side with such force that her body arced into the air, her screams filling the room. Batman roared as he launched forward, his body propelling him with everything left in him.

The first blow missed as Deathstroke turned aside at the last moment, dodging just beneath the arc of Bruce' extended arm, but he could not counter for the knee that he lifted and sunk into the Terminator's ribs, the man grunting audibly as the blow traveled through his torso. He growled as he swung outward with his fist, an uncontrolled act of rage that Bruce ducked beneath, turning and elevating with an upward blow. The armored knuckles in his gloves trembled and reverberated as they collided with Deathstroke's jaw, the man flying backward, spinning on his feet as he went face forward at Catwoman. She growled, rearing back and launching a blow of her own that caught him across the jaw, putting a shiver into his spine as his body stiffened up, the damage finally catching up to him. He breathed in a heavy breath, stumbling backward and, inevitably, turning to see Batman. The Dark Knight hovered there a second, both men seemingly exhausted beyond their limits, but it was Bruce who made the move. His fist locking, he brought his arm about with a blow that swung, almost lingering in mid air for a few seconds before it finally connected across the jaw of Deathstroke's face. The man's body went limp as he pitched right and toward the ground, his frame colliding with a heavy thud that sent dust and wood flying into the air, his body motionless.

Batman heaved, doubling over for a moment as his eyes flicked around the room, first going to R.J., who'd pulled himself along the wall. He was bleeding, but it wasn't as bad as it had first seemed, and he was slowly getting over the shock of the blade in his shoulder. As he looked over at Nightwing, he could see she'd pulled herself along the wall, holding her broken arm but slowly coming to grips with her pain. She nodded at him, smiling, which he returned. It had been the first time they'd seen each other since he'd dismissed her from the team so long ago.

Finally his eyes went up to Selina, who looked a mess, her costume torn to shreds in some places, the tight leather cut like ribbons across her lower thigh and just above her breasts. "That's how you always seem to come out looking after a long night," he said, smiling slightly as he stood straight, though not without a shiver of pain that ran down his back. "It's like you plan it."

"Stop being an ass, Bruce," she said with a laugh, shaking her head as she took small steps forward, lingering in front of him for a second before wrapping her arms around him. He hesitated a moment, hands limp at his side before, finally, he returned the embrace. They lingered there for a moment, the pair standing, his eyes staring toward the side of the room, then glancing off toward the exit. They still had to worry about Gordon's men, though he knew Oracle had sent in his final Batwing, but he wasn't sure if the hypnotic triggers had come to a conclusion or not yet. He had to take care of R.J. and Nightwing, obviously, and of course there was Catwoman…

His thoughts were on her for a long moment before he felt his body swinging, his body suddenly yaking violently as she hauled him away, putting her back to the stage as loud bang rang through the room. For a moment he was startled, his eyes glancing down at her as she looked up at him, a smile on her lips as her hands held tightly around his waist. Now though, it wasn't so much one of affection, but a hug she maintained simply to keep standing. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly, a chuckle escaping from her mouth as she held on a second longer. "Thanks for giving a girl a chance, Bruce," she said with a wink, her body suddenly crumbling to the floor. His gaze shot upward, to the face of smiling Delina Fiora.

For a moment she lingered on stage, she smoking gun held casually at her side, before she finally spoke. "Did you know Fiora is the name of a region in Italy?" she asked, glancing at her fingernails as if it were another day. "Or was that detail too minute for the world's greatest detective?"

"Fiora!" he screamed, taking a step forward, his teeth locking and fists clenching as he did. She waited, saying nothing else as he crossed the distance toward her, until he was nearly at the stage. As he was nearly about to leap forward he was caught by the voice of Nightwing, ringing out in the room.

"Batman!"

His face shot back, looking toward the rear. Unbelievably, standing there in the middle of the room, was Deathstroke. One hand stretched to the left, another to his right, he held two pistols outward, pointed at both Natalie and R.J. Bruce hesitated, looking between them before looking back at Fiora. "Why?"

"I'll let you figure that one out, Dark Knight," she purred, kneeling down just a short distance from him, looking down from the stage as her voice dropped to a whisper. "You ruined Basil Karlo's acting career when it came out he was working with the mob. You remember that, don't you? And poor Hugo Strange, whose career you nearly ruined when you brought out all the sources he'd illegally accessed in search of your identity." She raised her fingers, still smiling. "That's two, Batman. Two men who wanted revenge on you. There's a third. He was the one at the chemical plant. Think of him like an old time friend of yours."

Batman's jaw fell away for a moment. "No… it can't be…"

"That's right Batman," she said with a smile. "Karlo Hellfern, who you might better know as Doctor Death. That's right, he did survive that explosion, the one you caused, leaving him penniless, crippled and in daily agony. Nothing that the wealth my family controls couldn't help, of course. Then you know Moxon's story, obviously, since you were the one that brought down his run of the east stretch. Now all that, all those people who wanted revenge on you. Where does that leave me?"

Bruce's eyes shut for a second, then opening, as he stared into what seemed to be now be slightly familiar features. The distinctive nose, the strong cheekbones. "You're Falcone's daughter."

Her head tilted, a smile growing on his face. "Batman. How astute. What gave it away? The nose, right? Once people make the connection it's so obvious." The smile fell away, her eyes glaring coldly at him. "I was never aiming for you with this gun. I wanted you to see someone you cared for suffer. That's why Deathstroke was on orders to draw this out as much as possible, to make your teammates suffer, to make the few people you have connections with wither as painfully as possible. Catwoman's lying there, dying, and as soon as he finishes you off he's going to kill your two friends. How does that suit you?"

"You'll never get away with this, Fiora. I'll find you."

"You could barely handle Deathstroke with your entire team, and he was taking it easy. Now what will you do?" She leaned in further, her lips inches from his, her face examining his features. "I have one last secret I want to tell you, though. I recognize your features too, you know, although I wouldn't have if good Doctor Hugo Strange hadn't been so kind as to divulge. I know your secret," she said, smiling. Bruce felt a tingle through his body as she said this, her face moving just past his eyes, so that her lips lingered at his ears. "That's right, Batman. Hugo told me who you are. Your father and mine, they knew each other. Oh, I'm a little older, but not by too much. In another life we could have been friends, just like our fathers could have been, if he'd played by the rules, instead of constantly having him harassed by the police. Always on my father, trying to break up his businesses, muscling in and trying to clean up the city in his own way. Ah, but this is where it gets good, because this is where I tell you the real secret." She sighed, an almost sexual pleasure in her breath. "You see, nobody's ever really known what happened the night of your parent's death. Oh sure, Joe Chill took the fall for it, and Lew Moxon was the local general who put out the hit." She paused, her voice soft and menacing, like a snake. "But it was my father who gave the order."

Bruce felt a sudden sickening feeling sinking into his stomach, his body shaking as he felt a nearly uncontrollable rage flowing through his body, his teeth clamping together as she lingered near to his face. "Don't worry Batman. Even if you survive, I won't tell anyone your secret. But, and let's be clear, you have nothing on me. The old waterfront is a war zone now. After a night like tonight, Vega will more than happily vacate Gotham, after taking a generous purchase of his stake in the shipping industry. And, most importantly, I want you to know how easy it was. I needed five men to destroy three of Gotham's largest gangs. I maybe hired a dozen muscle for appearance, but really, that was barely necessary."

She leaned away from him, waving the gun in the air. "My father never changed with the times, and it cost him. I'm a different animal, though. I want you to know that in one night that I brought the wealth of Gotham back under one hand, just like the old days, while crippling some of the greatest threats I could have ever faced. I broke your team. And, when you lie dying, it will be the end of the long struggle between our two families." She winked at him, whispering. "There can only be one winner."

With that she got to her feet, nodding to Deathstroke as she called out to him. "Your money will be deposited first thing in the morning."

The assassin nodded, bowing his head slightly. "A pleasure doing business."

Fiora gave Batman a final wave as she stepped back, sinking behind the curtain. "What a lovely night, Batman. It's a shame we won't be able to dance again," she said as she passed behind it and into the darkness.

Immediately he turned about, the adrenaline surging through him unstoppable, the revelation of Falcone's actions suddenly causing his muscles to pulse. His breath quickened, nostrils flaring and his eyes leaping open as he stared down the stretch toward Deathstroke, who holstered his guns.

"Ready to finish this?" he asked, still sounding amused.

"You said you didn't want any quips or dark statements. I'm done saying anything, Deathstroke. It's time we stop playing games."

The Terminator nodded in approval, raising his hands. "I'll say this Batman, the one thing that can't be broken is your will. That just won't be enough this time."

Bruce took a step forward, his eyes flicking between all his injured teammates. Selina was off to the side, blood seeping onto the floor. If she didn't get medical attention immediately, she wouldn't have long. Meanwhile, R.J. and Natalie were both staring desperately from their places along the walls, watching as the two men approached each other. Both of them would die, too, if he didn't come through.

"No more," he said, voice menacing as his gaze lowered to the floor for an instant.

"No more?" Deathstroke asked, amused. "No more what."

Batman's face flashed upward. "No more." With a speed that defied even his own expectations, Bruce's fist came streaking through the air, Deathstroke's good eye widening in surprise as he attempted to turn aside and doge it as he'd done so often that night. He failed, and the armored knuckles of the Dark Knight's hand cracked him with incredible ferocity against the side of his temple, the man's body turning awkwardly with the blow.

Bruce drove forward, the Terminator turning to meet him, their blows flashing out and parrying against one another. Deathstroke would feign then throw his true punch, but Batman would meet both, hands bursting through the air with unrestrained speed, turning aside the strikes as he tried to get in some of his own. He'd launch his leg forward, driving it at his opponent with precision and skill, only to find it missing by inches. Deathstroke returned at him, leaping through the air and driving his fist at Bruce's skull, only to swing wide.

"Your girlfriend's going to be dead before you're done with me," he quipped, thrusting his leg backward and striking the Dark Knight in the abdomen. Bruce heaved as his body, already burning with pain, every muscle struggling to push him onward, searing with a fury he'd rarely felt. As he struggled backward, Deathstroke came at him, his armored glove swinging so quickly it was nearly superhuman. For a moment Bruce lingered, waiting as Deathstroke's blow came within a foot of him. Then, bringing his gauntlets upward, he crossed them and caught his opponent's wrist between their razor sharp blades. They sang as they crossed upward through unarmored joins in the metal gloves Deathstroke wore, and made a sickening sound as he brought them downward, their blades slicing through skin and muscle, a vaporous crimson cloud exploding into the air as the assassin screamed, clutching at his wrist and staunching the flow of blood, his single remaining eye widening at the sight of Batman's dark silhouette painted against the wall. "You don't kill!"

"You don't stay injured. That's not going to kill you," he growled as he launched forward, his armored fist swinging upward into his enemy's midsection, metal meeting metal, the force of Batman's strike so violent that Deathstroke's body lifted with the force of the blow, before Bruce brought his opposite hand across and drove it against his enemy'ss face. The man stumbled away, falling as the Dark Knight leaped at him, bringing both fists down in a single, hammering blow. The mechanical servos in his armor gave all they had in a singular strike that cracked down against the side of Deathstroke's helmet, metal ringing through the air as the metal in Batman's gloves cracked slightly. The assassin heaved as he was forced to a knee, the Bat raising his knee up with a blow that cracked him beneath the windpipe, again finding a soft spot in the armor he wore. Deathstroke's voice gargled as his hands went to his throat, Bruce dropping to the ground for only a split second before rising upward, his fist colliding with his enemy's face with a blow of such force that the metal edges of his gauntlet shattered and went flying upward into the air. As the light glinted off their metallic pieces, he caught sight of Deathstroke's mask, elevating upward through the air, the fearsome enemy falling onto his back with the force of the strike. As he slammed onto the ground Bruce leaped at him, his fist coming down upon the man's face, cracking him against the nose. First came his unarmored hand, which slammed against the man's check, then his armored hand, which collided with enough strength to break the assassin's brow, blood flying across the ground as Bruce growled in the night.

Raising his fist, he prepared a final blow, raising it high for a moment before staring down at the man. He hadn't been lying. Deathstroke looked to be at least fifty or sixty, his hair, moustache and goatee all a brilliant white, traces of wrinkles lining his jaw and eyes, the mark of his age. He groaned, glaring up at Batman from his place on the floor, blood soaking his face, running from his eye, his brow, his nose and seeping from his mouth. Yet he smiled, chuckling.

"Still… won't finish me, will you?" he asked, amused.

"Like I said," Batman replied, standing to his feet and staring down at his bloodied opponent. "We're nothing alike."

"Going to be your death one day, you know," he mused, still grinning. "I'll heal, Batman. This… this is nothing. If you don't finish me now, our paths just may cross again one day."

"I'll be ready," Bruce sneered as he stepped away, rushing to Catwoman's side. From his place on the ground, Deathstroke called after Batman.

"You can go after… Delina, you know. She's being taken out by Moxson and those guards she has under hypnosis. You won't… have time to save your friends if you do, though."

Batman grit his teeth, looking from Selina, to Natalie and R.J. "Nightwing," he shouted, calling to her. "Can you and R.J. walk out of here?"

She looked to the boy, who nodded, then signaled to Batman. "He broke my arm… not my legs."

"Good. Head to the entrance," he called back, applying and adhesive around the wound in Catwoman's torso before sliding his fingers beneath her, the mechanisms in his armor straining after the long night, his body only slowly lifting her into his arms as he began to move toward the door.

Deathstroke laughed. "Really Batman," he cried out, sounding disgusted. "You could kill me, right here. You could take out Fiora, who started this whole night. But what do you do? You walk out."

He paused for a second, eyes staring at him, unable to find the words for a moment. "My mission, Deathstroke, is to protect life. Not throw it away. But for what it's worth, if you ever come to my city again, I won't be this nice. I know who you are now. I won't forget."

"Call me Slade," he laughed, head tilting aside slightly, watching as Nightwing crossed the distance. "As for you, girl," he said, tapping at the bloody wound that had once been his eye. "You took something from me. I promise you… I will never forget that."

She looked from him to Batman, but Bruce simply shook his head, trudging forward, guiding the small group forward as they walked out of the dimly lit room, the chuckling, broken body of Deathstroke lying, exhausted, on the ground. Step by step they walked forward, Batman pushing his legs faster and faster, feeling every heartbeat in Selina's body, her body pulsing with what little life it had left. One step after the other he led them on, passing back into the main hall, where Nightwing's motorcycle still sat.

Bruce's voice was tinged with anxiety, one of the few moments she'd ever heard such a nervousness from him. "I've got the Batwing coming. The old one." He hesitated. "The really, really old one."

"I get it," she said, nodding. "Two seater only."

"You can't drive with a broken arm."

"Maybe not, but…" Her arms went behind him, to R.J. "Hey. I know you've got a knife sticking out of your shoulder, but think you can get us out of here?"

The boy seemed shocked, but his eyes flared, face determined. "Yeah. I've ridden one before and, I can use my arm more than you can use yours."

She gave him a half smile, looking up at Batman. "We'll get out of here."

"Get to the coast. I'll have Barbara track your signal and send the boat for you two."

"And I guess you're…"

He nodded, glancing down at Selina, whose breathe was now shallow and slowing down. "She needs medical attention. Now."

"Got it." She nodded to R.J., who slid into the seat of the motorcycle as she got behind him, her arm wrapping tightly around his waist as she gave Bruce a final glance. "She'll be okay."

He nodded, walking onward as the motorcycle roared to life, zooming out ahead of him and slipping out the front door of Ricco Hall. Straining, he carried her the last few feet, moving back out into the darkness. As he did, he heard a roaring sound as, from above, a massive, somewhat bad shaped image appeared in the overhead skies. In his first days, he'd been obsessed with theming everything according to his symbol. It was a pattern he'd abandoned as he'd matured, but the original Batwing had one thing going for it that none of his future vehicles had been. It was intimidating, for sure. It also had the heaviest payload of any of the vehicles he'd ever created.

As the few remaining of Gordon's men passed out onto the streets, their weapons already going toward the skies, the Batwing came to a full hover and began to turn, its belly erupting with a festival of lights that blinded the men below, flooding the area with the equivalent of staring into the sun. Batman looked away as the grounds filled with an intensity not even his helmet could compensate for, his legs moving onward, watching as the vehicle erupted with another burst from its stomach. Electrical pulses surged from it, arcing through the night and colliding with their multiple targets, the electronic armor of the men surging and working against them as they fell to the ground. Still, Batman silently passed forward, moving toward the vehicle as it lowered to the ground, until he could wrap his hand along the ladder that dropped from the cockpit.

_"Special delivery," _Barbara said into his ear. _"Can you get inside?"_

"Yeah," he replied flatly as the ladder reached its peak. Awkwardly he gripped the side of the cockpit and pulled himself inside, settling as gently into the passenger's seat as he could, Selina's body wrapped in his arms. Without another moment's hesitation the vehicle exploded forward, rocketing away. "Tell Alfred he needs to be ready. Get Lucius and Leslie Thompkins, too. I want the whole medical lab ready to go when I arrive."

_"Yeah Bruce, I've already been working on it. Leslie's already there, and Lucius is on his way."_

"Good." Was all he said, breathing heavily. He could feel the unnatural pain roaring up his back from the base of his spine, the burning in his arms and legs, the feeling of fractured bones in his knuckles. His breathing was labored, and his jaw felt unhinged. Still, he'd live. As his eyes passed down to Selina, he could only wonder if she would, too.

Surprisingly, she smiled, her eyes half opening. "You're… a mess, Bruce."

"Quiet, Selina. You need to rest."

"Don't you tell me… what to do." She sighed, heaving, a pained gasp escaping her lips as she sucked in a deep breath. For a moment she lingered, silent, before her smile returned. "Hey. Guess you can final trust me… I'm not just a thief anymore, you know."

"I've known that for a long time."

She nodded slightly, her head dipping onto his chest. "Good to know."

"Selina?" His hands clutched tightly around her. "Selina, wake up!"

His eyes shot up at the glass of the cockpit, watching the approaching Wayne Manor as it came into view in the vast distance. "Selina. Almost there. Just hang on."

She said nothing.

* * *

Epilogue

_"This is Jack Ryder reporting live from Old Gotham where, over the course of the last 24 hours, the vast bulk of warring gang factions have been picked up off the street. After a tense night that saw nearly half of the Gotham police force dropped from a collapsing bridge connecting New Gotham to the island, all hostilities have died down due to help from, surprisingly, Lex Luthor._

_It was just a night ago when the detonation of a chemical plan on the old waterfront sparked a three way gang war between the Penguin, Great White and Black Mask. As police were moving over the Gotham Bridge to reinforce other officers already on the scene, an explosive rocked the bridge and sent them, along with evening traffic, plunging tragically into the waters. Rescue boats were on the scene quickly, but many are still missing while others remain in critical condition at Gotham General._

_With the majority of the city's best unable to reach Old Gotham it was the assistance of Metropolis' superhuman response teams, private forces maintained jointly by LexCorp and the city, that were the first to respond to the crisis. Flown in on Lex Luthor's aircraft and supplied with the same armors and weaponry used when dealing with their own criminal threats, the response teams helped bolster the Gotham police force already in Old Gotham. We have this interview, courtesy Clark Kent and the Daily Planet, discussing the reasons why he intervened."_

**_Clark Kent: _**_"Mr. Luthor, there was nothing to be gained by sending in your security forces to help Gotham, and yet you paid for their transport and supplies on your own pay. Is there any reason you can explain why?"_

**_Lex Luthor: _**_"You know Mr. Kent, I think it was nearly six months ago now when Metropolis, Gotham and Star City all came under threat by terrorist actions. I… regret that I did nothing to help. That was my failing and, seeing what Superman did… No. Not just Superman, but Butman, Green Arrow, all the heroes of those cities… Seeing how they put themselves on the line at no cost to themselves, well, I'd say that's inspiring. Wouldn't you say? At any rate, LexCorp's profits are at all time highs. I think we could afford some air transportation to help our beleaguered neighbors in Metropolis."_

**_Clark Kent: _**_"So no alternative reason, Mr. Luthor?"_

**_Lex Luthor: _**_"Believe it or not, Mr. Kent, no. There is not."_

_"Searches are ongoing as Luthor's forces remain in the area, attempting to track down any last remaining members of Black Mask's False Face Society. Black Mask, also known as Roman Sionis, was for years known as one of Gotham's most notorious criminals and gang leaders. It seems at some point during the chaos of that evening he was shot to death with a single bullet to the head. Though few will mourn his passing, it marks the end of one of Gotham's most notorious criminals. Combined with the devastation to the forces of both the Penguin and Great White, it marks deadly end to one of the city's most crime ridden chapters._

_Anyway folks, we'll be on the scene here in Old Gotham and will bring you news throughout the day. For now this is Jack Ryder, Gotham City News."_

* * *

_"Ms. Delina Fiora, it's a pleasure meeting with you."_

_"Oh, Vicki, the pleasure is all mine. It's always wonderful being able to meet with one of Gotham's highest profile news reporters."_

_"Thank you, Ms. Fiora. Really though, all eyes are on you. As everyone in New Gotham knows, the new fortunes of the city were being built on our shipping industry, but that was split between the waterfront in Old Gotham and the new sea stretch being constructed on the mainland. Now, many of the warehouses and docks in Old Gotham are vandalized, debilitated or absolutely destroyed. That shifted Gotham's shipping industry almost entirely to the mainland and now, with Marco Vega selling his shipping stake in Gotham to you, you've become the sole overseer of almost all of Gotham's transportation industry, both on land and at sea. That's quite the feat."_

_"Well you know, that events of that night were truly a tragedy, and I don't want anyone in Gotham to think that I'm taken advantage of what's happened or trying to exploit it. Like everyone else in Gotham, I mourn the deaths of all those innocents, whether they died in the destruction of the bridge, during the explosion at the chemical plant or during the nonsensical battles between all those gangs. However, Mr. Vega was taken through some traumatic experiences that evening. So was I, but I've lived in Gotham far longer. That has an insulating effect, and I was able to accept what had happened far more quickly. Mr. Vega was new to the city, and I suppose that makes it more difficult to understand and comprehend just how violent the criminals here can be. You know, I'd only just had dinner with him a few days before, and I'd warned him this was the sort of thing that happened in Gotham. At any rate, don't think he's leaving without a fair deal. We bought him out at a high price, and now he gets to return to Spain and reinvest that into his safer industries in Madrid."_

_"Ms. Fiora, with your acquisition of Vega Shipping in the U.S. as well as your recent moves into technology and research, you've quickly accumulated a vast fortune. In fact, with the recent explosion of your company's stock value, you're now Gotham's second wealthiest citizen just behind Bruce Wayne. Anything you have to say about that."_

_"Just that Mr. Wayne had better watch his back, Vicki. Oh, I'm kidding of course. Nothing like friendly competition in business."_

* * *

R.J. couldn't help but shake his head as he flipped between news channels, watching report after report coming out of the chaos that had happened over a week ago now. He sighed, sinking back into the couch, his head resting back on the wall of the apartment. It was still hard for him to absorb everything that had happened, how the entire night had unraveled. On one hand, he was thrilled. He'd met a hero of his, and had been given a chance to help protect the people of his neighborhood. They'd saved lives, Black Mask was apparently out of the picture, Penguin and Great White wouldn't be doing anything for a while. Still, he couldn't help shake his head, his fingers drifting up to his still pained shoulder, which was still wrapped in gauze. He could still see the face of Deathstroke, and every time Delina Fiora popped up on the television, he couldn't help but growl.

"I can't believe she got away with it."

"Are you still watching those news channels R.J.?" Natalie's voice came from the kitchen as she emerged, casually dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. She juggled two cartons of ice cream in a single hand, her broken arm locked in a highly restraining cast. "Which one do you want, vanilla or chocolate?"

"Why does it always got to be black or white?"

"Shut up," she said with a smirk, pitching the vanilla at him, which he snatched out of the air. "Can you please put it on something worth watching? There's a reason me and Bruce never made perfect teammates, you know. Half of that's because my personality was always too goofy for him."

"Hey, I'm just angry about Fiora getting away, that's all."

She shook her head, plopping next to him on the couch. "Bruce is angrier than any of the rest of us about it, believe me on that," she said as she whipped out a pair of spoons from her pocket. "You know I need you to help feed me, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, grinning, as he flicked the station over to a mindless action movie. Her eyes lit up at the explosions, a grin crossing her lips.

"You're learning what I like real quick, R.J."

"That happens when I got to take care of you like a baby."

"Hey!" She shot him a look, scowling. "I think you owe me a little more respect than that. I saved your life, you know."

"I know, I know," he said, scooping the spoon into the chocolate ice cream cart. "Hey, have you heard anything from Bruce?"

"No." She frowned, distracted by the question. "When he's ready, he'll get a hold of us."

R.J. nodded. "Hope that's sooner than later."

"It will be." Her smile returned. "Hey, hop to it. I'm hungry here."

* * *

Lucius Fox stared at the screen, a finger resting on his lips. He watched the display, watching the suit of armor turning about, displaying various energy signatures, unique properties that the armor had. He shook his head, turning aside to Alfred. "This right here is why not even the armor I made could punch through whatever that fellow Deathstroke was using."

"It's some sort of unique metal, then?"

"It's way more than unique, Alfred. This stuff… I don't know. It's what was leaving that energy property all over Gotham. It's a metal like nothing else I've ever seen."

"Quite ominous sounding, Lucius. What do you make of it?"

Lucius chuckled, looking down at the table for a moment. "If I had to guess, I'd say this meatl puts out that sort of energy signature because it actually is generating some form of power, like Uranium metal. It's not radioactive, but it's not exactly safe, either. I'm surprised anyone could wear it and not end up dead."

Alfred shook his head. "Well, Ms. Gordon did say that this Deathstroke fellow had some sort of regenerative healing ability. Might that account for why he seemed unaffected by it?"

"That's some damned fine healing factor if that's the case, Alfred. Man's got to have the ability to regenerate from almost anything. I'll tell you what, though," he said, glancing back at the display. "There's no way I could ever put something like this in Bruce's armor. I'd be poisoning him. I'd have to find a way to deplete it of its energy producing characteristics, first." He grinned. "Hell. The armor Bruce wears would be lighter but more durable. Sure would make it easier to gin up a 2.0 version of that suit he busted up. Don't get me wrong, I can do it. Just going to take a bit of thinking."

"And what is this mysterious metal called?"

Lucius shrug. "Hell if I know. Something crazy, like Adamantium, or something."

"That's a bit silly, if I might say. How about Prometheum, after the god Prometheus? If you think about it, he gave mankind something quite unique, and that's about what I'd described this as."

"Yeah, I think you're onto something there, Alfred," he said, grinning at his friend. "Now all I have to do is some real metallurgical science duplicating this thing. I'll make that my project for the next month."

Alfred sighed, glancing away. "Well, you have some time, if I might guess."

"Bruce still sitting up there?"

"Barely moves a muscle."

Lucius heaved out a breath, resting his hands on his hips, before glancing upward. "Alfred, I think it's been a bit too long since we had a drink together," he said with a wink.

* * *

"You know I'm Oracle."

Jim Gordon threw his hands up, glancing away from his desk. "Same way I know you were Batgirl. Same way I know Batman is Bruce Wayne." His eyes went up to her. "I'm not stupid, Barb. I've been working the beat and running around solving crimes since before Bruce Wayne ever thought about running out into the city with a pair of spandex on. Hell, I still remember escorting him to his parent's place after the murder."

She walked past the desk, standing beside him, her hips resting along his arm as she put a hand around her shoulder. "Thanks for letting me do what I think is right, dad."

"Barbara, if it wasn't for Thomas Wayne, this city would have gone to hell a long time ago. I'm old enough to remember that, to remember the days he was constantly pushing the police department to turn out the crooked cops and forcing the district attorney to go after criminals they would have backed away from otherwise. That man made sure Falcone couldn't get his claws too deep. Thing didn't really start to go sour until after Wayne was gone. When you think about it like that, Bruce really does take after his dad."

"So why don't you ever tell him? Why don't you ever just let him know the truth, that you know who he is?"

Jim chuckled. "You think he's delusional? Of course he knows that I know. He's not an idiot, either. It's the game though, Barb. If people thought I knew who he was, my life would be at a lot higher risk, and yours too. No. We're never going to stand on equal footing like that, not until long into the future, when either he, I, or both of us retire."

Her hand squeezed on his shoulder as she moved away once more, drifting back toward the door of the office. "After Joker shot me, you had the right to tell me to stop working with him."

"I was mad as hell, Barbara, but it's not up to me to tell you to go against your conscience."

"Just like I'd never tell you to go against yours, even as worried as I was that night."

"Been almost two weeks now," he sighed, turning in his chair and looking out into the distant horizon. "Going to be the Fourth of July in less than two more weeks. What a way to go into it."

"Well, maybe we could take some time out, and go downtown. The mayor's said he's going on with the fireworks plans. We could, I don't know, grab a hotdog and watch them from the park?"

He smiled, turning back to look at her. "I think I could figure out some time for that. I need a break after having to oversee all these funerals. So many good men, lost. I mean, it's not the faults of the security members of the response team I had with me, but from now on I'm never allowing their psychological training to be handled outside our department. Just took much risk."

"I agree. I mean, I'd had bad feelings about it since the department announced they were doing it to cut back on expenses."

"Damned economy. Almost got Batman killed." He sighed. "How's he holding up, anyway."

She looked down, a finger resting on her chin. "I don't know. He's been secluding himself, moreso than usual, anyway. Alfred says he won't move."

"That's a shame." He pried himself from the chair, getting up. "Hey, I can take off early today. How about you and I get that hot dog tonight? We'll go grab some donuts while we're at it."

Her face lit up once more as she glanced at him. "Yeah. Sounds like an old fashioned Gotham City diet."

* * *

Delina Fiora slid the pistol she had into a drawer within her desk, shutting it until it clicked softly, a smile on her lips. As she turned aside, her red dress flowing along her lithe, athletic figure, she couldn't help but smile, especially as her eyes passed over the mask upon the wall. Black Mask's, or at least it had been, when he'd been able to breathe. Her lips were spread with a full smile as she walked back and forth along the rear wall of her office, which was one long stretch of glass overlooking Gotham, the skyline a gleaming shimmer of golden light in the afternoon sun.

"I did it, father," she said, her eyes glistening in the sunlight as she turned about, moving to the desk. On it, a series of manila folders were laid out, one stacked on top of the other. She flipped through them quickly, musing over the photos within as she spoke aloud. "Basil Karlo… Karlo Hellfern… Hugo Strange… Oh yes, who knows? I may need you all once more," she said as she took the stack, opening the drawer at the side and tucking them within. "And Slade… That man, well. If Bruce ever does decide to put on that tin can suit of his again, at least I know for sure that I have someone that can beat him."

She laughed softly as her hand moved to the edge of the drawer, her fingers hesitating for a moment as her eyes picked up on something she hadn't seen before. Curiously she stared into the messy stacks of papers within the drawer, her eyes keying in on gaudy, pink envelope that stuck out from beneath the pile. Fiora pushed the stack deeper into the drawer, revealing more of the envelope, which she snatched from within. As she brought it forward, she realized she had never seen it before that day. It wasn't addressed to anyone, but it wasn't in her tastes to buy something so silly. So, intrigued, her fingers worked at the back of it, tearing it open and lifting the top.

Her fingers probed within, feeling two small slivers that she withdrew. They were cards, one smaller than the other. The first was all black, small, a business card. It was blank on the edge facing her but, flipping it over, she couldn't restrain from biting her lip slightly as she read the bold lettering across the face.

"The Broker," she whispered, setting the card down on the table, her fingers now clutching at the final card. She recognized what it was from its back, a simple playing card. Her hand trembled just for a moment as she flipped it over, revealing a grim looking Joker's face glaring at her. A gasp left her mouth as she set it down beside the Broker's card, stepping back slightly. Her eyes went to the door of her office, then searched around her sparsely decorated room as she reopened the leftmost drawer, her hand wrapping around the pistol. Fiora calmed herself. The security in her tower was second to none, and her own killing skills had been trained into her by assassins and killers throughout Europe. Still, she looked once more back out onto Gotham, remembering her own words to Vega, about the madness of Gotham. After a moment, a smile crossed her face once more. "I'll be ready."

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat, motionless, as he'd done for two weeks. At times he'd get up, getting food, before returning to his chair. When he slept, he did so in his seat, his head resting on the wall behind him. Alfred would speak to him, but he'd never respond, instead returning to his seat. Day after day, this was how it passed, as he soaked in the darkness, muling over the events of the last two weeks. The room he sat in was sparsely decorated, a portrait of his parents adorning the wall, their warm smiles gazing down on him. He hadn't been able to save them. He'd been too young. He hadn't even been able to get Fiora.

Fiora. Just the name caused his fists to tense up. Eventually, he'd bring her down. If their fathers had been at war, and they were destined for the same, then so be it. His parents would understand why he hadn't chased her. At least, that's what he told himself. He'd been trying to save a life. He'd been trying to uphold his vow, his lifelong promise, that his commitment was to sanctity of life. It was first to saving people. Criminal justice was just one element of that. No, that night, he'd left because he'd known the most important thing was trying to save Selina.

Selina. He sighed, rubbing at his forehead, thick fingers burrowing deep into his brow. Everything still hurt. Deathstroke had given him the sort of beating that he'd never taken from another, mortal man. Lex Luthor had needed a combat suit he'd used to battle Superman. Deathstroke, though... The pain he felt every day was fading, but still incredible. His back felt like it was dotted by a dozen spots of intense anguish, the muscles in his arms and legs burning, his knuckles alive with a fire from the splintered shards that were his bones, fractured from the last blow he'd given the assassin. Alfred came in occasionally, telling him it was time to get medical treatment, insisting it was his for his own good. Bruce didn't listen.

His eyes fell downward, watching her unmoving figure, the regular beeping of the heart monitor coming from the side of her bed. In retrospect he couldn't be sure if he'd meant to maintain this vigil, this way, for so long. Now, though, he almost didn't know how to break it. Day after day had passed, and he'd simply watched, and waited, a silent guardian. It wasn't so strange to him, when he thought about it. During his training in remote regions from Tibet to southern China, he'd found a number of orders who insisted on still contemplation. Some even did insist on long periods of simply sitting and existing. He'd done this before, he was only doing this again.

Bruce's gazed flicked up to the portrait of his parents, then back to Selina's face, her eyes shut, her breathing regular but her mind voyaging in a place he couldn't reach, not matter how long he sat there or what he said. The bruises she'd taken were starting to heal, her face now back to its old self, those lovely features of her returning. Watching her, he could only shake her head. "Last time we ever had a serious conversation, as Bruce and Selina, the only thing I could do was doubt you." He shook his head, gazing once more up to his parents, his hand resting on her bedside. For a long moment he glanced between them, between their warm faces, their loving grip, as they stared out onto him from their place on the wall. "I don't want to bury someone else."

* * *

"Don't put me in the ground just yet."

Bruce's eyes snapped to Selina's, a sort of fear and anxiety washing over him. "Selina."

"You remember my name… even with all those women you see, Bruce."

He frowned, his hand patting the side of her bed. "I'm glad you're awake. You've… you've been out, a long time."

She smiled, nodding. "I'm the one who looks a mess now," she said, groggy eyes glancing downward, passing over her body. "Where the hell am I?"

"The mansion. After we got you here, I had Alfred and some others that I employ to help me with my own injuries come in and get the bullet out of you. After that… well, you lost consciousness, and just didn't come back. At least, not until now."

"They did surgery one me?"

"Yes."

Her hand went to her mouth. "Oh my God, Bruce. Alfred didn't… didn't see anything, did he?"

Bruce couldn't help but return a baffled grin. "That's what you're concerned about?"

"A lady's got to know when to show it and when not… and this is definitely not the time. Banged up, looking like I've got three shades of purple on my face."

"Well, you look fine now. You've healed up pretty well."

Her eyes shifted, glancing at his hand. "You're dangerously close to my thigh there, mister self-conscious." He looked down, his wrist beginning to slide away before she caught it with the edge of her finger, sliding her hand into his. "Bruce. Really."

"I was just…"

She closed her eyes, smiling. "Deathstroke was right about one thing. It's okay to let go once in a while."

"Selina. You know certain things are… difficult."

"We've had the talk, Bruce." Her eyes opened slightly, looking at him. "That night I stormed out of here. Remember that?"

"Of course. I wasn't exactly proud of how that played out."

"I said you'd never bothered looking into any of my past. When I was leaving… Alfred suggested it might be because you'd rather just have me tell you. That you wanted me to trust you with that." She squeezed his palm. "Was he just trying to make me feel better?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. After we became involved, on and off, I decided to stop looking into your history. I didn't want you to be just another face in the case file."

"I kind of like that," she said, her face turning, for the first time recognizing the portrait of his parents. "They were a beautiful couple."

"Yes, they were. Every memory I have of them… Well, the best I can say is I wish I had more. My father wasn't always the warmest person. When he was going on about discipline, it could be a rampage. They loved each other, though, and they loved me."

Her face turned a final time, looking at him. "I know how hard even this is," she said, lifting his hand slightly. "I know that's because of your parents dying. You're not alone though, Bruce, and I don't mean that just in the sense that I'm here." She sighed, eyes tilting to the ceiling. "You lost your parents, Bruce. Loving parents. My parents though… I barely had any. We were rich, but that's about all we had going for us."

Selina's fingers tightened in his hand, and for the first time, Bruce squeezed back, feeling a tremble in her arm as she continued. "My dad… well, I'm not sure there's such a thing as a worse alcoholic than he was. He beat me, Bruce, week to week. It wasn't every day, but if you could smell the whiskey down the hall it was a likely chance he was about to go on a rampage. He beat my mother, too, almost broke her back once. She couldn't leave, though. It was like he owned her. If she'd left, she'd have no money. It was mostly his, after all."

She stopped a moment, eyes shimmering in the light as she lowered his gaze to him. "One day she just couldn't take it anymore though, Bruce. While he was out, on another drinking binge, she got really paranoid that he was coming back just to beat her one more time. I guess she snapped because…" A smile went across her face, but there was no happiness, but rather it looked like nervous tension finding a way to express herself. "I'm the one who heard the gun go off, Bruce. I'm the one who found her dead on the floor with a bullet shot through the head."

Bruce's eyes widened as he heard the story, leaning into the bed. "I didn't know Selina. I'm sorry."

"The kicker, Bruce, is that it was the first time my dad realized what he had. He never beat me again after that, but he drank so much that he was dead within the year." She chuckled, again an act of nervousness, and heaved outward. "I'm an orphan, just like you, except I don't have the good memories of loving parents you have. I wish I did. I wish I could at least say I had memories of us going to the zoo, or them taking me to the park, but I don't. I never will."

She stopped a second, still looking at him. "What I'm saying Bruce, is that I get it. It's hard, with a past like that. I'm not saying I turned out okay," she said, now giving him a true smile. "Hey, when we met I was robbing old Lucretia Salinger out of a diamond necklace worth a hundred thousand."

He smiled, nodding. "I remember that. I was surprised you were as agile and quick as you were, too. Not your normal thief."

"Well, it took time, but I changed. I owe some of that to you. Believe it or not, I just couldn't believe someone was as good as you were. Even with all the Dark Knight stuff, you never had a selfish bone in your body."

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you were actually changing for the better. Even after you helped secure the mobs during the Thanksgiving Eve riot."

She shrugged. "Hey. I guess if I doubted you could be a good guy, you could doubt I was trying to be one, too." Her eyes went down to her stomach. "Bruce… I feel like I could eat all the food at half the restaurants in Gotham."

"Right, you've been getting intravenous feeding," he said, pulling away as he went to the door. "I'll be right back, after I get something for you."

Selina nodded, smiling as he vanished through the doorway, breathing in. There were still waves of pain emanating from the bullet wound, but all she knew at that moment was that she needed some real food. If she didn't, she'd tear the tubes from her vein herself and march into the kitchen. She chuckled at the thought, a sound at the door catching her attention as she shot a glance to the side of the room. "Bruce, you couldn't possibly have gotten the food that quickly."

A new figure entered, the familiar, elderly figure of Alfred. "Misses Kyle, I cannot tell you how unbelievably happy I am to see you awake again."

Her smile widened from ear to ear. "Alfred. Now that's a face I like to see," she said, wincing slightly as she pulled herself upward slightly, so that her head was resting against the back wall. "Bruce told me I'd been out a while but he didn't say how long."

"Two weeks, a time in which he never left your side."

She blinked, her jaw falling away as she contemplated it. "Two weeks?"

"Yes. Master Wayne was tremendously worried about you."

"I can imagine," she said, looking to the chair. "What do you mean he never left my side?"

"I mean that in the most literal sense you can take it. He only left this room to fetch food from the kitchen. Otherwise, he sat here, around the clock. He even slept in here."

"So, wait. You mean he never he even went out to…" She raised two fingers above her head, mocking Batman's cowl. "Not even that?"

"No, Miss Kyle. Not even that."

She turned, staring forward to the wall opposite of her bed, resting against the pillows bunched at her back. "Wow."

* * *

Bruce Wayne pressed the doorbell of the apartment, shifting slightly in his suit, uncomfortable. He waited a long moment, knowing who to expect, and yet feeling incredibly ill at ease. After a moment the doorbell swung open, the spectacled visage of Clark Kent beaming through the doorway. "Bruce!" he said, turning aside and motioning into the rear of the room. A moment later, famed reporter Lois Lane was filling the doorway, leaning into her husband's massive frame.

"Bruce Wayne," she said with that fake haughtiness she could summon so well. "Guess you do owe us a trip up here after all the trouble Metropolis went through helping out in Gotham."

He gave her the best smile he could summon, nodding. "Yes well, we're grateful." He lingered a long moment, turning aside and beckoning to Selina, who joined him at the doorway. "This is Selina Kyle."

Lois' eyes burst as the simply dressed Selina moved in beside Bruce, wasting no time to extend a hand outward. "Lois Lane, I have always loved your reporting. You don't give anyone any slack. I used to get a laugh just reading your interviews with Lex Luthor."

"Yeah well, old chrome dome didn't appreciate but my readers sure did." She waved them into the apartment. "Well, come in, come in. It's no Wayne Manor but me and Clark have a pretty nice place going here, we think."

As the two women disappeared within, Bruce lingered at the door, Clark smiling at him with that borderline obnoxious Kansas happiness. "Thanks for the invite, Clark."

"Hey, I hadn't seen you out of costume since Thanksgiving, and I thought we'd had a pretty good time out at the farm. Felt like we could use something a little more like that."

Bruce nodded, words on his lips but unable to speak for a long moment. "You know Clark, that time, at your parents place."

"What about it?"

He heaved, his discomfort palpable. "What your mother said. What she had to say about my parents, from when they knew each other…" He glanced away a second, before looking back at Clark. "I guess a thank you is the best I can give. It meant something to me to hear about them, about who they were."

"I appreciate it, Bruce." He looked the man over, grinning. "But did you have to wear a suit? It's the Fourth of July for Pete's sake. You could have just thrown on a shirt and some khakis."

Bruce's eyes burned as he glared at him. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, turning, gesturing into the room. "Well you can't just stand in the door all day like a stranger."

Bruce nodded as he stepped inside, for the first time seeing Clark's place. It was a far cry from his parent's house in Kansas, and yet all too familiar. While it provided all the luxuries of a high rise apartment in Metropolis, including the incomparable view of its dazzling skyline, it was also decorated with a wholesome charm Bruce had grudgingly come to appreciate from Clark. It was nicely furnished but subdued, nothing flashy, much like Clark. "Ever the humble abode," he quipped as he followed Clark into the kitchen. Even here, a small painting of a small pastoral landscape decorated the wall.

Clark open the refrigerator, rifling inside for a second. "Lois keeps a good stock of beer around. I wish I could get the same effects from it that she does. I have other ways of getting intoxicated, but it takes some effort, not to mention some mild traces of Kryptonite, and that's always tricky. Anyway, you want anything?"

"Uh." He paused, frowning. He had promised himself he'd be a good guest. "I don't really drink beer. Or anything, really. We don't all have the Kryptonian luxury of being unaffected by it."

Clark looked up from the fridge, a look of slight disappointment in his face. Bruce sighed as he looked around the kitchen, toward a rack on the counter. He pointed toward it, nodding. "I do occasionally have a glass of wine."

"Great!" Clark replied as he turned, fetching a bottle from it. "Lois loves Riesling. Do you think Selina will like it?"

"Oh, she'll love it."

"You feel like talking about that at all?"

Bruce cocked an eyebrow at Clark. "No."

"Fair enough," he replied warmly, grabbing a few glasses from the overhead cabinet and pouring out a few drinks for them all. "Feels like just a year ago you wouldn't have ever accepted an invitation to come over. Next thing you know you'll be coming out for bowling night."

"Clark. Just to be clear, I'm never going to be like you. You're the best of us. You get to smile and be warm and cheery. You had the childhood none of us had. I'm not that individual."

"Hey Bruce?" he asked, looking at his friend. "None of us were ever asking you to be. We always appreciated you. Nobody, not one of us, ever doubted that what you do, you do because of your commitment to the memory of your parents and your value for life. Don't worry, anyway. I've got enough Kansas charm for all of us. Just be you. Deal?"

Bruce nodded, giving him the first genuine smile he'd been able to find since he'd entered. "Deal."

"Great. Now come on, let's get these drinks out there before Lois starts yelling at me," he said, passing off two glasses as he carried two of his own, leading the way back out into the living room.

Selina was standing on the balcony outside the apartment, her hair flowing in the warm wind coming up from the city, while Lois fidgeted with the remote control of the tv. Annoyed, she glanced up at Clark, holding the device upward. "Is it me or do we constantly have to reprogram this thing to work right?"

Clark frowned, setting the glasses down on the coffee table in the center of the room before taking it into his hand. It might as well have been a toothpick in Clark's gigantic grip. "Bruce, this might take me a minute. We're always having problem with this thing. I don't suppose Wayne Enterprises is thinking about developing a better remote control, are they?"

"I'll bring it up at the next shareholders meeting," he joked as he walked by, out onto the balcony. Selina flashed him a smile he held up a glass, which she received gratefully.

"Merci, Mr. Wayne," she said as she brought it to her lips, savoring the flavor for a moment. She grinned as she glanced back into the living room, where Lois and Clark were busy tinkering with the remote. "You're really going to be able to stomach six hours of this?"

"This may come as a shock, but I did more than six hours of this at a farm in Kansas. Clarks's mother knew my parents. It… took me by surprise."

"Wow. How did that go."

He nodded, a small trace of a smile on the corner of his lip. "It was nice to hear about them. Besides, I may hate to admit it, but the Kents are surprisingly good for the soul. It just took me nearly a decade to realize that."

"Hey, we don't always get the lesson the first time around." She elbowed him, giving him a wink. "Seriously, it's not my normal scene, but I think I can see what you're saying about Clark. Good guy. Lois is a riot."

"You two have more in common that either Clark or I might like to acknowledge," he joked, taking a drink from his glass and enjoying the flavor. "Hm. It's been a while."

"Don't you be an easy drunk on me while we're at your friends' place, Bruce."

"Funny," he replied, smiling

Clark's voice broke in from the interior of the apartment. "Hey guys, we finally got the tv going," he said, even as he slapped the remote in his palm. "It's a while before they start popping those fireworks, but when they do, it's going to be something. The view from the balcony's great. Until then though," he said, settling down next to Lois, even as he rotated the remote a few times, stumped by it.

Selina sighed, pushing off the railing, her eyes and smile locked on him. "You sure you're ready for this?"

He nodded, returning the smile as he joined her. "I think so."

As the two of them began to cross into the living room, he paused, Selina leaning into him, the pair of them framed in the doorway. Opposite them, on the other side of the room, a mirror reflected their image, she in her simple dress, him in his suit, the pair of them almost like a portrait that he recognized all too well.

She looked up at him, placing a hand at his chest. "Something wrong?"

Bruce smiled, shaking his head. "Not at all. Just… looked like my parents for a second there." He glanced down at her, putting a hand at her hip and leading the two of them inside, finding a seat on a couch just near to where Lois and Clark were already arguing about what to put on tv. Bruce placed an arm around Selina's shoulder as she joined in the argument, siding with Lois, but his eyes drifted out to the golden horizon beyond. All of Metropolis was alive with a light that poured into the Kent household, the sun slowly drifting downward behind the spires of the city.


	20. Author's Notes

**Author's Notes**

Thanks to everyone who read this work. It comes as a sequel to my previous fan fiction, Superman: Bold. If you enjoyed my writing, even if you're not typically a Superman fan, I'd encourage you to give it a read at s/9395036/1/Superman-Bold. Superman: Bold was completed in a week, while Batman: Brave two a little over two months, mostly due to the fact that I am in the middle of the publishing process for my book The Dream Map (half of which is currently up at FictionPress, if you feel like reading it). Also, if you feel like providing a little monetary support and helping an author, four bucks can get you a middle grade fantasy called The Golden Anvil in ebook format here: The-Golden-Anvil-Series-ebook/dp/B00EL4G2IK. I put a ton of thought into my stories, and research my characters, even if in the end they take on my own twist on the mythology. But please, they're hard writes sometimes, especially since the last chapter of Batman:Brave was a two day write-a-thon. It was fun, though!

**Continuity**

I'm not going to rehash every detail from Superman: Brave here concerning the continuity my superhero fanfictions occur in, but they take elements first of all from Smallville, second from Batman: The Animated Series, and then a hodge podge of comics and cartoons. The technology and science of both Superman and Batman borrow heavily from The Man of Steel, the Dark Knight and from the Arkham Asylum game series. I hope the final product, which you read, feels both familiar as well as fresh. This universe, which I will continue developing over the next year, is a continuum I collectively refer to as Earth-JL. Notable elements include:

1.) Nightwing is a young woman, influenced by the Smallville comic continuity.

2.) Robin is present and an orphan, but in the universe I created, it made more sense for me to write him into the story as someone Bruce encounters through his orphanage system. Hopefully you enjoyed this take on an urban youth as opposed to the traditional 'nearly died in a circus accident' storyline.

3.) The Batsuit is obviously a higher grade tech than what is seen in most of the comics and cartoons. It's not Azrael Batsuit from Knightfall, but it's not just laytex or kevlar. It's closer to the version worn in the Dark Knight movies, with certain tech, including mechanized systems, that are a mix between the technology in Arkham Asylum and the suit used in the Dark Knight comic or even Batman Beyond. This is primarily a response to the threat Lex Luthor presented in the story Superman: Brave.

4.) This version of Batman hasn't been operating for more than a decade and is in his mid to late 20s or early 30s. As such, some stories are still origin stories. In this universe, he'd never encountered Deathstroke before, and while most of his traditional Rogue's Gallery has made an appearance, there are still several significant missing characters, such as Bane.

5.) Black mask is obviously, now, dead. Delina Fiora effectively replaces him as a centralizing criminal force, albeit with various elements that are all her own.

**Final Notes**

Well I think I've said everything I've needed to say. If there are any lingering questions I'll just add a new Author's Notes later to address them. I know a lot of the story is convoluted but I feel that, in the end, each one of them gets answered as long as you're paying attention to the narrative. If not I'll be more than happy to answer any lingering queries. Please be on the lookout for my continuing additions to Earth-JL and the DC Universe, TELL OTHER PEOPLE to read my stories, spread the links around, and if you do have the chance for a short middle grade fantasy consider buying the Golden Anvil.

With all the best wishes,

Jason Luthor


	21. Author's Announcement

Even though my previous Superman story involved Batman, it was definitely more Superman centered, with Batman toward the side. For my World's Finest, I'm going to have Batman as a main player, involve Selina in the plot, and introduce some secondary characters from the Justice League universe I haven't previously used as I start creeping toward a Justice League story far down the line. There will be repercussions from both Superman: Bold and Batman: Brave in terms of the Earth-JL universe I've authored, and hopefully we're going to have some fun with this.


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